


Royal Seduction

by Sincognito



Series: Underfell Papgore [1]
Category: Underfell - Fandom, Undertale
Genre: Anxiety, Bondage, Depression, Dom Asgore, Ecto-Body Parts, Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Ecto-Tongue (Undertale), Ecto-Vagina (Undertale), Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Forced Breeding, Gang Rape, Heat Cycles, I will be noting all warnings before each chapter, Later on there will be pregnancy, M/M, Marking, Mental Breakdown, Might happen in the future??, Murder, NSFW, Papyrus is all the sad lmao, Physical Abuse, Please tell me if I've missed any tags!, Possessive Asgore, Possessive Behavior, Possible future gore, Separation Anxiety, Sexual Abuse, Smut, Some people have asked for crossdressing?, Someone please save this poor child, Soul Sex, Sub Papyrus, This is so you may skip a chapter if it contains material you are not comfortable with, Underfell, Verbal Abuse, Warnings May Change, non-con, suggestions accepted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2018-11-13 23:21:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11195592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincognito/pseuds/Sincognito
Summary: Asgore is in heat and in need of an heir to the throne, how fortunate he has found a most suitable monster to claim as a mate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Heya, this is my first attempt at Papgore, and more so my first attempt at writing NSFW content. I am very new to this, so if there are any important tags I should add please notify me. I hope everyone enjoys

To be called upon personally by the King was truly an honour, and something only reserved for the highest-ranking members of the court. Yet, for some reason unbeknown to Papyrus, he had been summoned to meet with the King privately in his throne room. 

It was not the first time Papyrus had been within the castle’s walls. As a lieutenant in the Royal Guard, he occasionally assembled there with other members of the Guard for meetings if issues were to arise in the Underground and had once met with Undyne in the armoury on the lower levels. However, this was the first time the skeleton had wandered the halls alone – save for the handfuls of palace guards dotted here and there. 

Papyrus had found himself lost in thought, combing his mind for any and all possible reasons His Majesty might have requested his presence. Perhaps he had done something wrong, or perhaps Undyne had sent word to the King regarding his steadily growing set of skills. Whatever the reason, it must have been of high importance. 

Papyrus couldn’t help admiring the beauty of the long golden room through which he walked. There were tiny specs of dust kicked up by a subtle draft that blew through – causing the air to look as though it were sparkling in the light shining through the stained-glass windows bordering the hallway. 

Compared to the rest of the castle the room seemed bright and lively, purely from the selection of warm yellows, oranges, and golds. The large pillars that lined the walkway, looming overhead, made the room feel old, as though it had stood there unmoved for centuries. Papyrus suddenly felt very small, like he were not intended to roam freely its structure that simply radiated a grandeur he was undeserving of admiring. 

In times of old it had been known as the ‘Hall of Judgement’; a befitting name indeed, for it was the place all wrongdoers were brought before the King. Their misdoings were to be judged and their fate sealed. Perhaps that was why the room seemed to hold an air of superiority over all who dared enter – this was the place anyone could be judged – a place reprobates could feel their sins crawling on their back. 

Despite its eternal exquisiteness, Papyrus was pleased to finally reach the large oak doors that lead out from the great hall. After all, he was not entirely an innocent creature; not with his LV. Someone like him, someone who had killed not purely out of a need to survive, would have surely met their demise in that very room. 

The two monsters guarding the door to the Throne Room eyed the lanky skeleton closely, scrutinising him harshly, before stepping aside and drawing open the doors. They allowed him to pass with no word, sealing the exit once more behind him.

Awaiting him was another hallway. Unlike the Judgement Hall, this one was dull and it was obvious no effort had been made to mask the dreary greys of the stone walls and concrete flooring. There was a new draft of air – this time originating from before Papyrus – the sound of it blowing through the hallway creating a truly ghostly sound. 

There was also scarce any lighting in the long, dark room, only illuminated by the few torches that gently flickered, their flames creating shadows that danced on the walls, only serving to unnerve the guardsman further. Alas, despite his weighing fears he was forced to continue down the eerie passage. 

Each of Papyrus’ footfalls echoed loudly as he continued deeper into the castle, despite his attempts at subtlety. Fortunately, the path was short and soon enough he stumbled upon a doorway that was brightly lit; an old plaque, coated in a thick layer of dust announcing that it was the entry to the Throne Room. 

The monster inhaled deeply, steeling himself to face whatever awaited him through the door. Banishing any second thoughts his mind might have dug up, Papyrus forced himself to walk into the room. 

The sight that met the youthful skeleton was, conceivably, far more enthralling than that of the Hall of Judgement. 

In the very centre of the room sat the throne, a shining gold with deep red cushioning worn from heavy use and an ageing body. Leading to the throne was a path laid with the same inviting yellow and orange tiles of the Judgement Hall, however, the most curious feature of the room, and what stood out most was the flora adorning it. 

From a hole in the ceiling large vines were draped, and coating the remainder of the ground were brilliant golden buttercups that swayed softly in the gentle touch of wind that brushed through them. 

It was such a stark contrast to the rest of the castle, and furthermore, the Underground at large, that Papyrus failed to notice the figure that stood amongst the flowers until he spoke.

“Beautiful, are they not?” The large monster asked, gesturing with his large paws at the buttercups. His voice was deep and had a throaty rumble to it that made it sound full of wisdom and power both in the same moment. 

Papyrus had momentarily lost his ability to speak, his mind still attempting to comprehend how he had failed to notice the gargantuan figure. “Of course, Your Majesty,” he weakly managed, watching as the King calmly strode from his field of flora and onto the path. 

Asgore gave a laugh that seemed to thrum deep in his chest and come out perhaps louder than he had intended. “So, it is true then,” he continued, shifting his arms so that his hands were clasped firmly behind his back, his crimson cape billowing out behind him with every stride “My Captain’s new favourite is a skeleton.”

Papyrus furrowed his non-existent brows, his face contorting into that of confusion. 

His evident misunderstanding only served to amuse the large monster further as he chuckled once more to himself. “Apologies, it has been many years since I last gazed upon a skeleton. I have certainly missed having one in my service.”

“I am humbled to serve you, sire,” Papyrus assured him, offering a respectful bow to the King. He was still confused as to the King’s exact meaning but decided against pressing him to find out more. 

The goat-like monster began looking him over, a rather unsettling grin coming to settle on his face, “We shall see how true you are soon enough,” he assured Papyrus, reaching up to run a paw through his long black hair, putting his large talon-like claws on full display, gaging his reaction closely. 

Admittedly, Papyrus was unnerved by the rather threatening gesture and its silent implications, yet he made certain to show no change in demeanour. A high-ranking Guardsman could not show cowardice in the face of danger, and so he forced his outer appearance to remain calm, yet attentive. 

By then the King had made his way to the other monster, coming to a stop at an uncomfortable proximity to him and eyeing him closer. “Undyne tells me you are progressing through the ranks of the guard with great speed, a most impressive feat I will say. I can have only the strongest monsters in my guard.”

“Indeed, I have surpassed most other lieutenants, and the Captain has requested to take me as a pupil,” the skeleton supplied, feeling rather anxious when the King began to circle him, his expression becoming unreadable. There was, however, something dark about it that Papyrus didn’t like one bit. 

“The Captain has told me such – you are by all reports a strong, young monster. You would be most suitable indeed,” The second part of the towering monster’s words seemed to have been uttered to himself rather than to Papyrus, and did not help to quell his edginess. 

It was then that he noted a smell. At first, he suspected it to be the flowers, but it by no means did it smell as fragrant as the small buds on the ground. After a few further moments, it seemed to hit Papyrus like a metaphorical slap to the face; the strong scent was coming from the King. He felt a flare of panic run through him at the conclusion. The King was in heat. 

Unsure of what to do, Papyrus could only stand still and say nothing, praying that he was simply overthinking things. It was an unspoken law of the Underground – larger and more powerful monsters always claimed whoever they wanted during heat – and the King was the strongest of them all. He had an unrivalled kill count that was clearly reflected in his Level of Violence. 

Papyrus almost jumped when a large paw was rested on his shoulder, his whole body growing tense at the contact. He began to quietly try and calm his breathing that had since become rather ragged at the unwelcome intrusion into his personal space. 

“Are you okay, Lieutenant?” Asgore asked, pausing in his pacing behind the guardsman, “You seem rather anxious.” His grip tightened and Papyrus fought to keep a relaxed façade, shuffling about awkwardly. 

“I… I’m perfectly fine,” he tried to assure the King. Papyrus’ bones were still hard as stone – so strained that they had almost begun to shake. He could feel how close Asgore was; the large monster’s warm huffs of breath tickling the vertebrae of his neck. 

“Good.” It was the only warning Papyrus received before his legs were taken out from beneath him in a single sweep. He fell forward, landing on the floor with a considerable thump, the wind momentarily knocked from his chest. 

The dazed skeleton blinked having not expected such an action, his mind racing to piece together exactly what had just transpired. In his brief moment of stupefaction, he felt his arms wrenched backwards and firmly held behind him. 

Papyrus snapped himself back to reality, struggling weakly against the king’s iron grip, unable to get enough force behind his actions due to the rather unorthodox position. His arms, still strongly held, were pushed forward, painfully forcing him to remain led down. 

“S-Sire, what are you doing!?” It was most obvious what the King was attempting to accomplish, but Papyrus reasoned that his words might cause the larger monster to reconsider his current actions. 

Unfortunately, the King simply leant more weight onto his arms, pressing his ribs further into the unforgiving tiled path. It seemed that his words were only going to be ignored under Asgore’s current fevered disposition. Papyrus squirmed underneath him, kicking out his legs awkwardly in panic, knowing full well it would do him no good. 

His fearful actions must have amused the goat monster, for he gave a soft chuckle, a wicked grin quickly claiming his features. The King shifted forward, leaning down so that his mouth was beside the smaller monster’s skull, “Something the matter, Papyrus?”

His tone alone was enough to make the monster shiver in fear – it had a low possessive growling to it, and it was near impossible to not hear the triumphant smirk in his voice. Asgore was playing with him, tormenting him for his own sadistic intentions. 

“P-Please, Your Majesty, you-you can’t do this,” he hurriedly pleaded between attempts at freeing himself from the stronger monster’s grasp. 

The cruel monster only gave another mirthful laugh at his words, “I am the King, I can do whatever I so choose. And who knows, perhaps you may enjoy this,” his free paw moved to slip under Papyrus’ chest plate, tracing and teasing almost playfully at the ribs of his fresh canvas with well-practiced hands. Soon enough he would be able to sculpt the young monster into the perfect object of his desire. 

Papyrus screwed closed his eye sockets, hissing as he desperately fought off the urge to groan at the pleasant touches. However, his reluctance seemed only to encourage the King further – his hand becoming more demanding of a response to its work. 

The young monster eventually couldn’t contain himself having had no prior experience with such intimate behaviour – soft, pleased sounds began to slip unbidden through his clenched teeth, interrupted only by the occasional afraid whimper. 

Eventually, Papyrus’ breathing sped up, his body slowly growing uncomfortably warm, and not only from embarrassment. His eyes slipped open again, seeing that Asgore was still bent down to his level, watching his unavoidable reactions to the other’s touches with obvious enjoyment. 

The King moved away from Papyrus’ line of vision, moving to kneel behind the smaller monster, shifting his hand down from his ribs only to drag his claws gently down the inside of his spine. 

The action was rewarded by a surprised yelp and a considerable amount of writhing, Papyrus’ legs and hips moving in a random, uncontrolled fashion, unsure of how to react to the new stimulus. 

Asgore then decided to change tactics, gripping at his spine and beginning to run his hand up and down its length, ensuring to touch every dip and bump of the sensitive vertebrae. The action made Papyrus’ legs shake – reducing him to a panting, quivering mess. “S-Stop, p-please” he weakly begged between inhaling gasps of air, his voice quiet and consisting of mostly desperate whimpers by then. 

His pleas were pointedly ignored, and Asgore seemed only to grow more vigorous with each pump along his spine – more than one drawing a reluctant moan from the smaller monster – still battling to retain at least some dignity throughout the ordeal. 

Papyrus felt his magic spring to life without his request of it, but instead of forming an attack it did something rather odd to the skeleton. His magic had formed something between his legs, and Papyrus screwed up his face at its slick, wet sensation. 

The King seemed to notice his sudden shift in demeanour, and then the red glow softly emanating from his pelvis. He chuckled to himself, a truly terrifying look etched onto his face. “You’re certainly new to this, aren’t you?” he asked in a crude, condescending tone, watching as Papyrus attempted and failed, to hide his horrified expression, “Just a few touches and you’re already desperate for it.” He slid a leg between both of the skeleton’s, beginning to roughly rub against the formed magic beneath his clothing. 

Papyrus’ toes curled and uncurled inside his boots as he shivered and whined at the King as the newly formed fleshy mass was teased. 

Asgore’s paw, that had since ceased rubbing his spine, moved to begin toying with Papyrus’ belt buckle, undoing it in a painfully slow manner. Evidently coming to the conclusion his paw was too large to deal with the tiny buckle he decided to take an easier route; tearing his sharpened claws down the pants and simply tossing the ripped remains of them aside, much to the skeleton’s panicked protests. 

Now Asgore had full access to the young monster’s legs and pelvis. He took a moment to swiftly abandon his own lower clothing, before returning to the skeleton, a hand beginning to tease at the sensitive flesh. 

Papyrus could barely stop his breath from shaking, pleasured groans now easily escaping him, no longer being restrained by his pride. Everything had begun to dissolve into a hazy blur of needy lust, and he was finding it difficult to keep his body in line when his mind had already begun to betray him. 

Papyrus knew it was wrong, the stubbornly sober part of his mind telling him so, but he couldn’t find it within himself to listen to it. His body had seemingly grown irregularly weak, unable to fend off the King’s advances, and perhaps even inviting them. 

He made one final attempt for freedom – a vain struggle that was abruptly cut off when a finger brushed over his clitoris, sending sparks of pleasure all through his bones and sending him back to the floor with a grunt. Papyrus’ legs shifted, raising his hips gracelessly as they began to rock of their own accord, needing something more than ruthless teasing. 

The rhythmic caressing of his already dripping cunt was slowed to a stop, and he couldn’t refrain from whimpering, his face screwing up in desperation after the loss of pleasant stimulation. 

“Such a needy thing~” Asgore growled, smirking as he grasped Papyrus’ spine and hoisted him up so that his legs were spread wide and his pussy pressed against the larger monster’s hard member. 

Papyrus tried to pull away, still not wanting Asgore to have his way with him despite his aroused state. The King seemed displeased by his reluctance, in response simply pulling him closer, grinding his warm length on Papyrus’ sex and causing the skeleton to begin feeling his core dripping and pulsating in deep want of the other’s body. 

Obviously not wanting Papyrus to slow the process any further, Asgore shifted so that the head of his cock nudged at his entrance, trying to coax it into relaxing to make his entry easier on the inexperienced monster. After all, he seemed in no immediate hurry to break his new toy, at least not yet. 

Deeming him prepared enough, Papyrus was given no further warning before the King pushed inside the tight hole he had been offered. 

The skeleton gave a sharp startled cry, his magic being painfully stretched in a way it had never been before. Papyrus grit his teeth, pressing his skull firmly to the floor as a drawn-out groan left him at the uncomfortable feeling. 

The King continued gradually pushing deeper and deeper until he was completely hilted inside of his partner. His harsh breaths becoming irregular as he shook with great anticipation for what he was finally going to be able to do. It had been years since Asgore had last been with another monster, and his heated mindset combined with the scent of his young prey made it a struggle to fend off the urge to simply slam into the skeleton and claim his new property. 

Slowly and with great restraint, the King began to slowly roll his hips, his cock cautiously moving back and forth – mindful at first of Papyrus’ tender flesh. 

Eventually, the heat had obviously begun to take over Asgore’s mind, he released his hold on the skeleton’s arms, favouring a firm grip on his pelvis so that his thrusts could be harder, faster, and deeper. 

Papyrus, no longer restrained, desperately clawed at the ground beneath him, red drips of magic pricking at the corners of his eye sockets as his pain began to quickly ebb away, soon being replaced only by an intense feeling of pleasure. He didn’t know what to do – he didn’t know how to react to such an onslaught of unknown sensations. His panting grew even more unsettled thanks to the near constant whining and moaning he was unable to stop. 

The skeleton closed his eye sockets, giving in to the intense feeling, several magic droplets running down his skull, a trail of red leading from his eyes to where they dripped from his face to the ground. His hips, while still shaking had begun to push back against each of the King’s steady drives, a sudden urge to receive just a bit more, just a little bit more. 

Papyrus’ whole body was gleaming, coated in a fine layer of sweat. His pussy began to clench, keenly constricting more and more around the thick length inside him, eagerly trying to invite it further in. His body began awkwardly twitching, so close, but yet not getting enough just in the right spot. 

All Papyrus needed was a single, definitive harsh thrust before he tipped over the edge with a cry, finally hitting him just the right place. His walls clenched down hard around Asgore’s cock, his vision going completely black as his whole body began spasming erratically in response to the powerful feeling. 

He immediately fell limp, his body quivering, completely drained of energy, yet still managing to make soft sounds of vague enjoyment. Papyrus was lightheaded and out of breath, unable to do much more than simply lie on the ground in defeat. 

However, Asgore was not yet ready to orgasm, still very much needing more from the young monster. He continued to rock inside of Papyrus, his member easily sliding in and out of his wet organ at a swift pace. 

Papyrus groaned and whimpered – his whole body badly overstimulated – each touch suddenly feeling far harsher on his now extremely sensitive tired bones. Unfortunately for him, Asgore had only sunk further into his lust-filled desires. The goat monster growled possessively, his whole body shaking from the sheer strength of the sound, before he bit down on Papyrus’ shoulder, sinking his teeth down until bloodied marrow seeped to the surface. 

Papyrus could only scream out in agony as the King proceeded to leave several deep gashes in his already sore bones, intent on marking what was rightfully his for all to see. His pace began to speed up, Asgore’s cock beginning to swell, keen to release its load into _his_ skeleton. 

The King was not the only one close, Papyrus could feel a familiar pressure building once again, his body arching as he tried to get more from the other and push himself closer to the tipping point. 

Asgore’s claws had begun digging into Papyrus’ iliac crest as he grew more impatient, no longer caring how badly the other monster suffered, he simply needed release. He was quickly growing tired and so gave a few final harsh thrusts, finally managing to make himself cum, his hot seed quickly spewing into the skeleton. 

The sensation of being filled coupled with Asgore slamming his length into his hole with such force had Papyrus orgasming for the second time, his body giving a few wayward jerks before once more falling lax onto the floor. 

“G-Good boy~” The King cooed between heavy breaths, nuzzling his snout fondly against the back of the skeleton’s skull before quickly working to regain his composure. He pulled out of Papyrus’ cunt, enjoying the small distressed whimper he made, and watching as he curled in on himself. 

His body was shaking far more than before, and suddenly rather than a great heat Papyrus’ body felt freezing. He watched as the King quickly dressed, seeming to already have overcome his orgasm. 

The skeleton, however, was completely knackered, unable to move from his pitiful position on the floor. The sweat quickly vanished from his bones, but his face remained damp from the tears that were still lightly falling as he fought to regulate his breathing. He looked up at the King, who was staring down at him with a rather victorious smirk, eyes gleaming mischievously. 

“Don’t worry, you will get used to that.” It was the last thing Papyrus heard before exhaustion finally caught up to him. Darkness quickly encroached on his vision, and he eagerly welcomed it, allowing his consciousness to flee his aching body.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter in which Asgore makes his intentions known.

Papyrus gave a low groan as he shifted, gracelessly rearranging himself into a more comfortable position. The action drew his attention to a lingering ache that plagued his legs and pelvis, not quite potent enough to cause pain but just enough to remind him of the fact something was amiss. His face screwed up, displeased by the uncomfortable sensation. 

The skeleton dragged the blanket that had been haphazardly draped over him to his chest, holding it close and nuzzling his skull into its soft woollen fabric. He was quite prepared to simply let himself drift off once more when he noticed the peculiarities of his situation. 

The blanket to which he was clinging harboured neither his nor his brother’s scent and the soft mattress he rested on was far larger than his own. A brief wave of panic washed over him, and Papyrus was immediately sat bolt upright, the red lights of his eyes jumping about as they scanned the room. The sight laid before him only confirmed his fears. 

The room contained only a modest amount of furniture, but each piece was nothing less than extravagant. A large dressing table with an accompanying stool stood to the side of the room, made from a dark wood with the images of grand plants carved expertly into its body. The cushions of the stool and two armchairs that sat in the far corner of the room were a deep crimson with a similar floral pattern embroidered into them with a golden thread. There were cupboards and shelves and a bedside table, all too made of darkened wood and polished until they shone. 

Even the bed Papyrus had been sleeping in had not escaped the lavish tone of the room – the sheets made from a fine silk and blankets made of the softest wool he had ever felt. It did not take him long to figure out just where he was and more so why he was there. 

Papyrus anxiously drew his blanket closer against his bare bones, his phalanges pulling at the material absentmindedly as he thought to himself. He couldn’t leave, as much as he desperately wanted to flee and never be seen again. Even if he did try to run, he could think of no place he could hide that was beyond the King’s reach. 

A firm knock on the door startled Papyrus from his inner debate. He was still completely disrobed, only a single blanket to preserve his decency. He was in no state to receive anyone, but apparently, the other monster lacked the courtesy to wait for a response, pushing open the door and entering. 

The monster was a black canine. She was dressed in a simple maid’s uniform, her tail hidden beneath the long pleated skirt that seemed almost uncomfortably long due to the way she shuffled about. In her paws, she carried a silver serving tray that was no doubt made of real silver, and draped over her arm was some dark fabric – presumably clothes of some variety. 

“Good morning, sir,” the monster politely greeted as she placed the tray down at the end of the bed, “I trust you slept well?”

Papyrus remained silent, but she seemed not to mind, relocating the clothing she carried to a table. The signs of ageing riddled the canine’s body – the fur lining her muzzle had faded to a light grey and her eyes were dull, seeming a tad clouded. Though her step was not lively as it might have once been, the maid seemed happy enough to set about completing her assigned tasks. 

The curtains that had obscured the window were drawn and Papyrus was forced to squint as the assault of light that followed momentarily left him blind. The room was a perfect vantage point from which to gaze down upon all the monsters rushing about in the city below, continuing along with their simple lives. Papyrus, however, cared not for the view. 

“The King has commanded that you are to eat your breakfast and dress – you will be escorted to the Throne Room later,” The elder monster stated, dusting off her clothes, “If you need anything else just tell those guards outside to fetch you Clarine and I’ll make sure you’re well looked after.”

Her eyes thinned as she gave him a wide toothy smile, the vague wrinkles of her face only emphasised by the action. She had a certain motherly vibe that radiated from her in waves, an oddity in their world to be sure. It was almost amusing how positively sincere she looked and Papyrus was hard pressed to fend off his own small grin. 

Without a further word, the other monster quickly departed, leaving him once more alone. He was unsure what he thought of her, her attitude was partly comforting, but also had a strange air to it. Monsters were not kind creatures, the only form of love they understood was Level of Violence. 

Papyrus cleared his mind, he needn’t waste his time dwelling on the behaviour of another monster, not when he had to begin considering his own. Just how was he going to continue? He couldn’t disrespect the King, not when he was so powerless against him, but at the same time, he refused to simply be used like some cheap whore. 

The thought alone made him feel ill down to his non-existent stomach. Did Asgore truly think of him like that? Was he simply a tool to be used and then discarded when he had lost his usefulness? He hoped that were not the case. 

Papyrus leant forward and grabbed the tray of food. It appeared a most delicious breakfast; cooked meats, eggs, toast, and numerous fruits to top it all off, but he found that he had no appetite. 

He picked at the food for a while, rolling a grape around on his plate for some mild entertainment, anything to take his mind off his situation. In truth, he would have preferred a simple oatmeal compared to the vast array of food laid before him. The skeleton drew out a long breath before setting into one of the hardboiled eggs. 

Eventually, he pushed away the tray, unable to stomach anymore. He had only consumed enough to satisfy perhaps a small mouse, but even such a small portion had left him feeling nauseous. It had tasted wonderful, and on any other day it might have made Papyrus’ mouth water from the smell alone. Alas, he was no more hungry than when he had awoken. 

Papyrus cautiously pushed away the bedding before slowly climbing down onto the floor. The stone was cold and rough on his bare feet, but he ignored it, focusing instead on dressing himself. He had been given a large shirt, no doubt designed for a monster that had flesh, making it appear slightly loose and baggy. His trousers were a little better, having obviously been made to be a tighter fit than the shirt. 

He was pleased to see that at the end of the bed his boots had been placed, and he wasted no time in putting them on, along with a pair of socks. At least he had something familiar to keep him sane. It was then that he noted something was missing. His scarf. 

Papyrus began to quickly search the room, tossing the sheets and pillows from the bed, checking every drawer, and even looking under the bed as though someone were deliberately trying to hide it from him. His efforts were fruitless, and he began to dread that his most precious piece of attire had been abandoned or quite possibly taken. 

He felt simply bare without it, exposed even. Not even when he wore his more casual dress was he ever without his scarf. 

There was another knock on the door and Papyrus was forced to abandon his search. When his visitor did not come inside he assumed he would have to announce he was decent. “Enter,” he said, his voice lacking in its usual strength and sureness. 

The door was effortlessly pushed open and in stepped two monsters. They were palace guards, their rank clearly displayed by the royal sigil stamped across the heavy steel armour that covered them head to toe. One stopped at the door while the other approached, each of his steps cumbersome, clanking as metal collided with stone. 

Papyrus was a fairly large monster – he was by no means broad or weighty – but he had a height that rivalled most. However, both monsters were easily a head above him and at least twice his width alone.

The one that had moved toward the skeleton halted, leaving a comfortable distance between them, but still close enough to be within arm’s reach. The monster breathed out, thick smoke billowing from the thin gaps in his helmet and polluting the air with the harsh scent of flames. 

“We are to escort you to the Throne Room,” The reptilian monster stated, staring down at the shorter creature. “If you would follow us,” he continued slowly raising an armoured hand to make gesture at the door, his speech completely monotone and betraying none of his emotions, not even feigned politeness. 

Papyrus wordlessly moved towards the exit, falling in line behind the other monster who began leading the way through the mazelike halls of the castle. 

It was quiet, despite the vastness of the building. It seemed that while there was no shortage of space there were few to actually occupy it. On occasion, a glimpse of some monster could be caught darting from a room or silently going about their own business. Other than that, the whole place seemed utterly deserted like some desolate building unsuited for anything living to inhabit. 

The guards did not speak, and that sat quite well with Papyrus; he was in no mood for idle chatter. Eventually, however, he found the quietness of his surrounds to be unsettling. Were this the eerie forests on the outskirts of Snowdin he might have understood it, but a castle placed in the centre of a city? No, it felt wrong and out of place. 

Evidently, Papyrus had been situated at the rear of the castle, for it took them a lengthy amount of time to traverse back to the areas he was familiar with. The young monster was unsure if the long wait was a blessing or a curse – it gave him ample time to become lost in his thoughts – but also time for the knot forming in his gut to only grow tighter with every moment passed. 

To take his mind from his troubling circumstances he began observing the architecture of the rooms they passed through, taking note of all the exquisite paintings by monsters well versed in the ways of the old masters. 

Oddly enough, some of the paintings had gathered thick layers of dust, desaturating, and dulling some of the once magnificent colours. A sad sight indeed, such beauty greyed by the passing of time, the figures captured within faded away and long since forgotten. 

There was one of the King, beside him standing another figure. It was impossible to distinguish the identity of the person, the artwork too far gone to be salvaged. Whoever it was, he had an odd feeling about them, as though it was someone he had known. Papyrus tried to ignore the icy shiver that tickled his spine. 

They eventually made their way to the short walkway across the battlements that led to the main part of the castle containing the Judgement Hall, Throne Room, and just a little further on, the Barrier. From the high wall, the city was once more in view – the monsters below merely the size of insects – even the buildings were minute in comparison. How fortunate he was not fearful of heights. 

The city was a rather tiresome place, overcrowded and utterly filthy. Every towering city block was identical to its neighbour, there was nothing to distinguish the different sections other than a measly number. The monsters that lived there were even less pleasant. 

Living so close to the King’s residence provided a certain level of safety, and as such attracted the wealthier monsters. The beasts that called New Home their place of settlement were greedy and entitled, easily thinking themselves above others of their kind. Papyrus despised every single one of them. 

Soon enough the small party had passed through the Judgement Hall and were walking through the adjacent hallway. The torches were burning lower than the day prior and would soon need to be replaced, lest they flicker out of existence and cast the already dreadfully dim room into further darkness. 

Only the clatter of the armour-clad monsters and the uncanny sound of the wind accompanied them through the hall. Papyrus wanted to hesitate at the door, he wanted to turn and leave, but with the other guard behind him, he was not given such an option. 

Just as it was the day before, the Throne Room was of fantastical beauty. The plants still elegantly swaying in the breeze. Despite this, it had not retained the fondness Papyrus had once had for it, now only a place of danger. Perhaps he should have known that this place would be of great peril, after all, the ground was carpeted by poisonous flowers. 

This time Papyrus was quick to notice the King’s whereabouts, his nervousness only intensifying after laying his eyes upon the source of his despair. Asgore himself seemed to have not noticed their arrival or had possibly chosen to ignore them. He appeared lost in his thoughts, sitting calmly on the bed of flowers. 

“Leave us,” the King suddenly demanded, his tone harsh. He still had yet to move his gaze, upholding a distant expression, but that made him no less threatening. The other two monsters did as they were bid, both giving as deep a bow as their armour would allow before swiftly retreating from the room. 

There was a moment of uneasy silence before Asgore spoke once more, his eyes finally moving to settle upon the skeleton, “Come closer Papyrus, I promise not to bite.”

The pain in Papyrus’ shoulder blade told a different story, but he could not refuse. With all the caution and trepidation of a sheep among wolves, he began to approach, each movement tense and uncertain, as though one misstep could be his undoing. 

He stopped directly in front of the King, standing awkwardly as his hands balled up into fists. Asgore gestured to Papyrus and then to the ground, signalling for him to join him sitting on the ground. 

With great reluctance, the young monster lowered himself to sit cross-legged, ensuring to locate himself close enough to talk, while remaining just out of reach should the goat monster want to attack. He seemed to note his behaviour with an amused smirk – they both knew that if Asgore wanted to attack he would not stand a chance. 

Again, they lapsed into silence, the King producing a pristine white teapot that had been hidden amongst the tendrils of green and gold. He lifted a cup, pouring the aromatic beverage into it before sitting it back down once more. 

“Tea?” he asked sparing a look. Papyrus moved to decline, but already the drink was being poured into a second cup. Once full, it was passed over along with a saucer. “Golden Flower, a personal favourite.”

The skeleton gave a nod of understanding, reaching forward to grasp the offered cup between his phalanges. He blew across the top of the tea, taking a moment to watch the steam swirl and dance through the air before taking a tentative sip. It was still hot, presumably made fresh only minutes ago and had a distinctive aftertaste that was enjoyable enough. 

His throat was dry with fear, and so perhaps the idea of a drink had not been too foolish to accept. The scalding temperature made it too warm to drink quickly, and so he took only a tiny amount, barely making a dent in the overall volume of tea. 

Perhaps that too amused the King, for he gave a light chuckle as he stared down at the other monster in his company. Although the sound of laughter was in the air it brought no lightness or joy with it. 

“Now,” The King began, drawing a long sip of his own drink before turning his tone and expression very suddenly serious, “I assume you have many questions.”

Papyrus floundered for a moment. Indeed, he had questions, but could not will himself to speak them aloud. His gaze slowly fell, unable to make contact with the other’s eyes, favouring darting about the room as though the world wasn’t currently weighing heavy on his mind. 

“Why did you…” his voice trailed off, weak and small, barely audible. Now there was no way he could look the King in the eye, keeping his eye lights firmly trained on the ground as if it held something of great interest, the bare bones of his fingers picking at the fabric of his oversized shirt.

Fortunately, Asgore seemed to have expected such a question and quietly relinquished his hold on his cup of tea as he placed it on its saucer. “Well, there are many ways that could be explained,” he began, reaching to the side and plucking a small flower from its resting place and thoroughly scrutinising it. 

“Take this humble flower for example,” He continued, finally looking back to Papyrus, “it starts small, insignificant compared to everything else of beauty in the world,” He twirled the flower about in his paw, “but one day the flower blooms and all of a sudden everyone wants it for themselves; it falls to the quick and strong to claim it for themselves before anyone else can take it or tear it to pieces.” Asgore plucked a petal from the Buttercup, holding it out and watching as it drifted to the floor. “How fortunate I am to have found such a rare flower.”

Papyrus swallowed as the King looked back to him again, not bothering to hide the smugness of his grin. “But… What do you need with me?”

Asgore frowned, seeming to ponder his response for but a moment before holding up the flower once more. There was a flash and a small flame ignited in his paw, quickly consuming the golden plant as it curled in on itself before crumbling to nothing more than dust. “In time we all wither away, and one day we will all turn to dust,” he turned his hand, the ash sliding from his hand before being scattered in the wind, “If we’re not careful we may simply be forgotten, our memory lost like dust in the wind.” 

A moment passed where Papyrus looked up to the King, the display of power and his melodic words capturing the skeleton’s thoughts with a cruel mixture of curiosity and fear. He was uncertain of what the words meant, but knew whatever it was would only bring him more grief. 

“I refuse to simply be discarded – I need to ensure that I live on – And the easiest way to accomplish that is with an heir,” Asgore’s eyes suddenly narrowed, his mouth pulled into a tight line, “You will help me accomplish this.” His words were final, they allowed no argument to be made. The King had spoken, and Papyrus had no right to deny him. 

It angered him. The whole situation made him simmer in silent rage, “Is that all I am then?” he snapped, his voice raising several octaves, perhaps a little too assertive as the larger monster fixated him with a glare of warning. But he refused to back down. If this was the way his future was headed he would be damned if he said nothing. “Some tool for you to use and then toss away? Some prize for you to trot around? Some object you only-”

The King lunged with a fierce snarl, his body moving impossibly fast for such a large creature. Papyrus had not a moment to react, his rage immediately being trumped by terror as he was slammed into the ground. He had made a mistake in speaking so openly. 

His breath hitched, unable to inhale nor exhale, fearing that any breath he took might very well be his last. On instinct, his magic sprung to the defensive, sharpened bones materialising around them, poised and ready for use. Papyrus forced them to dissipate, he couldn’t attack the King, his life would not be worth living if he did. 

Asgore’s lips curled upward, displaying his large incisors that were only a hair’s breadth away from Papyrus’ skull. His breath was heavy and intermittent with soft growls, “You will learn to behave as I tell you,” he hissed, “Perhaps if you do well I will forgive your loose tongue.”

Papyrus slowly nodded, his fingers digging into the ground in a feeble attempt at holding himself together. He whimpered when the fearsome monster leant down, their teeth brushing together. 

Asgore grew rough, slipping a finger in the small gap between Papyrus’ jaw and prying his mouth open. He slid his large tongue inside, using it to explore the smaller monster’s mouth, brushing along the roof of his mouth and the inside of his teeth. 

The stimulation caused his own magical tongue to flicker into existence and he was swift to use it against the intruding appendage, trying to force it out of his mouth. Unfortunately, the King was far stronger, quickly managing to dominate the other, seeming to revel in his ability to so easily subdue his partner. 

Despite Papyrus’ obvious lack of experience in that particular area Asgore seemed to gather quite enough enjoyment from their short battle, growling this time in a more possessive manner. 

He expected the royal to continue, to take their interaction to the next level and have his way with him again. The King, however, withdrew, seeming satisfied with only claiming his mouth for the time being. No doubt he would claim the rest later. 

A single claw was dragged across his jaw, and Papyrus tilted his head back, exposing his neck and bidding his eyes closed. The claw moved to his neck, earning a shiver. He had expected the teasing, what he didn’t expect was for something cold to be abruptly clamped around his throat. 

Papyrus’ eyes flew open and his hands shot up to grasp at the object now firmly secured to him. It was a collar of sorts, slim and feeling almost weightless against his bones. 

Before he could question the odd accessory, the King spoke, “Summon your magic again,” there was the smug, knowing grin again. He had done something, and Papyrus didn’t want to find out what. 

He moved to sit himself upright now that Asgore had moved away, he eyed him cautiously before moving to summon a small attack. When his bone construct didn’t spring to life Papyrus frowned, he reached out trying to call forth his magic with new panic induced vigour, yet he could not make so much as a spark of red. Something felt very wrong, like he no longer had a connection to his own reserves of magic, like his soul was unable to produce anything but a sensation of nothingness, longing to feel anything other than the absence of magic that made a monster what it was. 

Papyrus was panting heavy with the strain of trying to force his magic to conjure something, anything. He failed to notice when the King moved close, and it wasn’t until a hand gently curled around his arm that he jerked back to reality. If he had been weak before, he was utterly defenceless now, even a lowly Moldsmal could dust him. 

He wrenched at the collar, trying to tear it from his neck, refusing to resign himself to such a forbidding fate. The hand on his arm tightened and Papyrus looked up at Asgore’s scowling face. He released the collar, averting his eyes from the other monster. 

“Now, now, it isn’t that bad,” the voice was almost mocking, “So long as you tell no one you’re wearing it you will be safe.”

Papyrus wanted to retort with some snide commentary but thought better of it. He gently crossed his arms over his chest, still denying the King his gaze. It was a brief streak of crimson that brought him from his childish pouting. 

He felt a strange concoction of relief merge with his nervousness as he saw his scarf held in the larger monster’s grasp. He watched as the other moved closer once more, all the while fending off the desire to flinch when the scarf was loosely coiled around his neck, putting the collar out of sight. 

“I will attend you again this evening, I suggest you be ready,” the King whispered lowly to Papyrus where his ear would have been. He then straightened and stood up to his full imposing height, “Ensure to meet with the royal seamstress, I will not have you wandering about the castle in these makeshift rags.”

The young skeleton hesitantly made his way to his feet, “O-Of course, sire,” he breathed, only able to hold the monster’s eye for the briefest of seconds before it flicked away again. 

Papyrus was glad when the guards were called back into the room, and even more glad when they were dismissed and allowed to finally depart. Even the dark passageway en route to the Judgement Hall seemed a far more comforting place to dwell. 

The guards had been informed of where he was to be taken and so they began the trek back through the winding halls of the castle. Papyrus had finally managed to still his beating heart when he heard a shout.

“Papyrus!” the voice was shrill and unabashed, and there was only one person in the entire underground that sounded even remotely like it. He only had the time to pivot around on his heel before being tackled by the Captain of the Royal Guard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Due to the hugely positive response I got to this fic it shall be continued as a full story. Important note: I will also be opening requests and prompts for this story - comment below or shoot me an ask if there’s something you would like to see incorporated into this story.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Third chapter where we meet Undyne and the King gets to have more fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the huge delay on updating this fic, I’ve been buried under at work, and as I’ve stated before I was sick for over a month and unable to write. Hope you all enjoy regardless!

Papyrus should have known better than to have his guard lowered, especially when he had been already so pathetically defenceless. How fortunate it had not been a foe to throw him from his feet. 

The captain burst into a roar of laughter, easily pushing herself up from the ground, offering him a hand once she was standing. Her grip was fierce, and it seemed a completely effortless task to hoist him off the ground. “Really Papyrus, you can’t let yourself get taken down that easily,” Undyne smirked, displaying her spear-like teeth for all to see. 

On a normal day, Papyrus might have humoured her with a quick duel or a snarky comeback at the very least, but instead simply gave a weak laugh and a poor attempt at a reassuring smile. 

She seemed less than concerned, busying herself with dusting off the heavily marked armour she wore. Years of wear and scrapes from countless battles, Papyrus could have sworn that once the armour shone blue in the dim lights of Waterfall, but now even in the well-lit halls of the castle was a dull, lifeless grey. 

It was only after she had ensured there was not a speck out of place that Undyne noticed Papyrus’ guarded escort. Her sharpened eyes narrowed to mere pinpricks, her mouth twisting into an ugly snarl as she glared at the other two monsters. “Can’t you see we’re in the middle of talking, leave us,” she practically hissed, changing from a jesting friend to angered commander in but a split second. 

The two guards shared an unsettled look, both obviously debating which was worse; leaving their charge unattended, or testing their Captain’s fragile temper. Evidently, they decided that Undyne was the immediate danger, and both turned away, walking until they resided at the opposite end of the hall they all occupied. 

The aquatic monster tsked softly, ensuring to send a particularly nasty look in their general direction before turning back to Papyrus, her face softening. “So, what did the King summon you for?”

Papyrus felt his non-existent stomach drop, his breath becoming shaky as he fought off the urge to divert his gaze to the floor. He would happily speak of anything, anything but what had transpired the day prior. No matter how close he and Undyne were, he could not muster up to courage to talk to her, to see the inevitable disappointment that would surely follow. He couldn’t tell her, couldn’t face the prospect of her pitying him, not even for a moment. 

“He…” It felt as though breathing was impossible, his mouth moving to talk but unable to produce a sound, every bone in his body tensely strained. “He offered me a job,” It was a half-truth, and even then, it had seemingly taken all his might to push out those few words. 

“That’s great Papyrus!” She beamed, looking as though she could begin jumping with pure excitement, “I recommended you to the King only last week, he seemed very interested in your progress, I’m glad he also sees your potential.”

Papyrus felt a deep pang of pain within his very soul. Undyne seemed truly elated, so proud that she had done what she thought a good deed for a friend. There was no way he could tell her the truth, it would bring her only regret. It was all her fault, yet Papyrus wished her no harm, he was well aware that the moment she learnt the truth, guilt would serve as just a punishment as she deserved. 

She seemed to have noticed his lack of enthusiasm, her face scrunching up in suspicion. “Are you okay Papyrus?” her tone was low and measured, missing its usual extravagant flare of passion. 

“Just a little anxious.” Anxious was the wrong word. Papyrus was terrified. It made taking a long walk off a short pier seem like the best idea he’d had all day. He had managed to keep himself composed for the most part, but that was perhaps his current state of denial that was saving him from crumbling to dust right there and then. 

Undyne continued to heavily scrutinize him, staring into his eyes long and hard for a solid few moments. When he refused to either crack and speak the truth or provide any extra information she seemed to relent. 

Papyrus winced when she gave him a rather harsh pat to the shoulder, yanking him to her side. “Don’t worry,” Her smile had already reclaimed her featured, “You’ll get used to Asgore eventually, he’s just a little scary at first,” she assured him.

After a moment she released him, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him one final look up and down, “Speaking of Asgore, I’d better get a move on, but I’ll be sure to check in with you soon,” she pivoted around on a heel, beginning to return whence she came before abruptly adding; “Besides, we haven’t talked about this new job of yours, you’ve got to tell me all about it”

Papyrus almost whimpered aloud at the very idea, unable once again to do anything more than watch her steadily retreating form. He was practically shaking by the time the guards had once more moved to his side, only just managing to hold back the torrent of tears that threatened to spill. Like hell would ever disregard years of training and give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him cry. 

Unfortunately, such thoughts made it no less difficult to try and hold his quickly deteriorating mind together. He wanted nothing more than to go home, to be left alone to simply curl up and vanish from the world and all of its many problems. 

Papyrus kept walking, mindlessly following the other monsters’ lead, too far lost within his own thoughts to care where they led him. 

As horrible the prospect of a conversation seemed, he cursed the silence of the corridors more. He could lie to people, pretend he was in a perfect state of mind, and perhaps if he thought it enough he might begin to believe it himself. The quiet? It allowed only the cruellest of his inner ideas to speak, plunging him only deeper into dark despair. 

Fortunately, the royal seamstress was only a brief distance from the main castle, clearly marked by a sign engraved into the building’s stone structure. 

The guards were forced to wait outside as Papyrus entered, the space inside too small to house the larger armoured monsters. The room itself was rather large, but a curtain of fabric served to segregate the front of the area from the back, presumably to keep the machinery and stock from sight. 

The counter, lined with samples of twine, string, and countless different textiles, had been vacated, and it took a moment before the tall skeleton spotted a small bell. He gave it only a single tap before the sound of scuttling feet could be heard. 

Papyrus had assumed that several monsters had leapt up to meet their new customer, and so was surprised when a single creature boldly strolled into view. The sound of more than one pair of legs continued despite there only being one monster, and it was very soon that Papyrus discovered why. 

He watched as all eight legs of the arachnid moved, working in perfect synchronization, making the creature walk as though levitating through the air. Its long tail bobbed up and down with the movement, the large barb on its end poised to strike. 

The scorpion monster scowled in distaste at the monster before it, unconsciously clicking its massive claws together as its pupil-less eyes scrolled up and down his body. “What do you want,” It spat, feminine voice laced with a slight lisp due to its rather unorthodox mouth structure. 

Papyrus had only encountered one other such specimen, a brown male scorpion monster that had been causing trouble for some of the workers in the Hotlands. He had never forgotten the blinding speed at which it was able to strike, slashing and stabbing at the other guard members with the venomous tip of its tail. 

The scorpion, however, seemed to be a female example. She was far larger than the male, her exoskeleton black as a stone of onyx, her very breath carrying with it the subtlest of hisses. A most fearsome beast to be certain. 

“Well?” she snapped, tail twitching impatiently. 

Papyrus hadn’t realized he had been staring and gave a startled blink before finally managing to find his voice, “The King sent me, he said you were required to make some clothes for me.” 

The monster made a sound, describable only as some noise of great irritation, before smoothly slithering over the counter and onto Papyrus’ side. She began to inspect him closer, drawing uncomfortably near as she observed his current makeshift wardrobe. 

“First of all,” She began, “This will have to go.” A claw slipped underneath Papyrus’ scarf, giving it a firm tug for emphasis. 

Immediately Papyrus pulled away, swatting the invading appendage, “No,” he stated firmly. Sure, he was no longer in the frigid landscape of Snowdin, and the material had begun to fray at its edges, gradually falling apart, but it was more of a sentimental piece than anything else, reluctant as he was to admit it. 

The scorpion tsked, snatching a roll of measuring tape from the countertop, “I see the King has sent me another difficult monster,” she hissed, beginning to take his dimensions, noting them down with her unburdened front leg. 

Papyrus was uneasy having the monster so close, each occasional touch enough to send sparks of anxiety down to his non-existent stomach. Not that the other monster seemed to notice, or perhaps she simply didn’t care about his jumpy behaviour, opting to busy herself with the task at hand. 

Once finished she began humming in thought, the sound intermittent with the clicking of her jaw, “A nice tight-fitting shirt would do… and perhaps some low-rise pants-” she broke off into quiet incoherent mumbles about possible clothing styles, wandering away and back to the other side of the counter.

The arachnid paused just before disappearing back behind the curtain once more, taking a momentary glance back towards the skeleton, “your clothes will be sent to your room, you may leave.” She waved him off with a claw, paying him no further heed before vanishing, shouting some indecipherable orders at another person. 

Papyrus was relieved he was able to leave, he wasn’t certain how much longer he would have been able to stand having the beastly creature breathing down his neck, scrutinizing him so harshly. The guards seemed to be just as pleased to be leaving, having had to stand awkwardly in wait. Without a further word, the small part continued onwards back through the castle. 

When Papyrus was finally back to his temporary accommodation he could not have been more relieved. Finally, he could be alone to work through his raging emotions. He felt as though privacy was one thing he was beginning to lose little by little, and so he was eager to use every moment he was offered. 

The very second the guards closed the door Papyrus crawled up onto the bed. He lay down with a shaky sigh, pulling the freshly laid sheets to his chest for some weak form of comfort. He forced his eyes closed, burying his face into the soft surface, trying valiantly to keep his breathing under strict control. It was an act of great difficulty with the knowledge that the King would seek him out again in a few short hours. 

Horrible as it may have been to have such knowledge of the future, it was better than living in the unknown, having no way of knowing when he would be claimed next. It still did nothing to calm his nerves. 

Papyrus groaned in a suffocating mixture of frustration and defeat, tightly clutching at the blankets as angry tears burned his eyes. Had this been any other situation he would have been studiously working towards a solution, determined to find a way to make it all work. But there was nothing he could do. He was so unbearably weak that it caused him an almost tangible level of pain. 

Yet still, he refused to lower himself to the level of crying, not again. Besides, he had not enough magic to waste, not when he was already so exhausted and after so little food. He would simply have to hold himself together, face whatever happened with all the strength he had left. 

He was only disturbed twice again that day, both times by the canine maid he had met in the morning, bringing him his designated meal. He had only picked at the food – as much as he despised the wastage of food – for he still lacked an appetite, only forcing a few mouthfuls at a time to keep a functional magic level, nothing more. 

At some point, it had grown dark, and Papyrus managed to hunt down a small box of matches, lighting the small candle sat on the bedside table. He sat for a long while, watching the flame as it danced to a silent rhythm, flickering and swirling as it went. He had become almost hypnotized by it, and so the sound of the door opening caused the skeleton to startle rather embarrassingly. 

His eye lights all but vanished upon seeing the larger monster stood in the doorway.   
Papyrus’ legs curled up towards his chest, instinctively moving to protect himself as each breath seemed to all of a sudden become far more laborsome than the one prior. His bare phalanges dug into the mattress, searching for anything that could help soothe his vexed state as his eyes remained trained on the goat monster. 

Asgore moved slowly, gently pushing closed the door behind him, all the while his eyes refusing to waiver from their line of sight on the smaller monster. He unfastened the clasps of his lengthy cloak, bundling it together on one arm, before draping it over the back of one of the arm chairs. 

He took a moment to glance around the small room, settling on the large window. He calmly walked towards it, silently pulling the curtains together, hiding the view of the city below before refocusing his attention on the skeleton. 

The candlelight cast heavy shadows upon the King’s face, rendering his expression unreadable, yet providing it with a certain sinister air at the same time. Only his eyes were clear – the light of the flame clearly reflected in their dark depths. 

“Undress,” he said simply, turning away to begin removing his own garments. 

Papyrus hesitated, finding it felt an impossible task to move. He took a deep breath, trying his utmost to ignore the way his chest and teeth shook with the very action. Slowly, he began to gingerly unwind the red scarf from his neck, slipping his shirt over his head afterwards, followed shortly by his trousers.

His hands had begun to shake, indifferent to how he desperately he tried to force them still. By the time Asgore had finished and looked back in his direction the anxious quivers had spread to his arms and legs – there would have been an audible rattle if not for the soft surface he rested on. 

The King, however, seemed only to be entertained by the sight, huffing in amusement as he stared down at his newest possession. He dropped his clothes down on the nearby vanity table before clambering onto the bed, “Lie down.” 

The words only panicked the monster further and he found himself rapidly shaking his skull, “N-No please-” he managed to whimper out, beginning to blindly move away from the larger monster. 

Asgore seemed displeased by his defiance, pathetic as it was to even try. He gave a throaty growl, gnashing his teeth in warning. 

One strong arm lashed out and snatched Papyrus’ sternum, wrenching his whole body closer and causing him to yelp in pain. He wrapped his phalanges around the muscular arm, inwardly debating if it were worth the effort of trying to pry it from him. 

The monarch leaned forward, trailing his tongue all the way from the base of his neck all the way up to where it connected to the back of his skull, forcing Papyrus to elicit a small sound of surprise, his pointed fingers digging into the arm he was still latched onto. 

Asgore pushed the other monster down onto his back with enough force to sufficiently wind him before initiating his exploration of the other’s body. He ensured to touch every inch of the skeleton’s ribs, rubbing them firmly and paying close attention to exactly which ones produced the most interesting reaction. 

He brushed a paw over one of Papyrus’ lower ribs, noting him flinch at the contact and proceeded to begin roughly stroking it, evidently unable to hide a smirk at the way he writhed and whimpered. 

Papyrus moved his head to the side, unable to watch what was happening, feeling his cheek bones already burning in embarrassment. “S-Stop please,” he whined, face contorting as he made a vain attempt at holding back a sob. 

A hand gripped his jaw, gently guiding it back into a straight position. He tried to look away, his eyes drifting off to the side, reluctant to meet the King’s. “Papyrus, look at me.” He ignored him, a familiar burning sensation making itself known as he blinked away the small droplets that threatened to spill down his face. 

“Papyrus,” his voice was firmer, yet held no hidden malice nor anger, “look at me.”  
Finally, Papyrus did as he was told, timidly looking up at the monster towering above him. Forcing his gaze to remain in place even as a pair of lips were pressed against his teeth, his mouth unwillingly parting to allow further access. 

Asgore took full opportunity, plunging his tongue inside and eagerly taking over the young monster’s mouth, their teeth scraping together as he tried to push it deeper in his attempt at domination. It took little time before Papyrus surrendered control, conceding defeat without having fought back in the slightest. 

“Good boy,” Asgore purred, his breath heavy, “I am pleased that you are beginning to learn your place, this whole process will be far easier if you cooperate-” head still close, he extended his tongue, dragging it along the skeleton’s mandible, “Or if you learn to enjoy our time together; I know I certainly will.”

Papyrus shivered as the goat monster dipped further down, nibbling at the vertebrae of his neck almost playfully. He groaned when a paw began to move up and down along his spine, sharpened claws scratching light as feathers and causing him to shift about. 

His breathing had become more prominent, his bones warming under the intimate touches. It wasn’t fair how willing his body was to betray him, craving the new physical behaviour it had been so greatly deprived of. It all felt so foreign, yet at the same time so natural, his body seemingly demanding to know why it had taken so long for him to engage in such a practice. 

He tried to keep himself calm, closing his eyes to try and steady his breathing. Unfortunately, his lack of sight only heightened the senses of the rest of his body, particularly touch. Once more he pried his sockets apart, choosing to again turn his skull away from the larger monster.

“Now, now,” he gasped when a hand brushed his pelvis, his magic sparking with excitement, all too willing to respond to the stimulus offered, “What did I just say about not looking at me.” 

Asgore smirked at the sight of Papyrus writhing about, starting to coerce the magic into forming the correct organ with the use of two fingers. Using the other hand, he forced his head back into position, “I want you to watch this,” he growled, planting a small kiss upon the skeleton’s sternum. “I want you to see exactly what I do to you and know that there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

Papyrus’ stared back in horror, he had known first hand of the King’s cruelty, but a small naïve part of his mind had thought that perhaps, he would be treated somewhat kinder if he did as commanded. Evidently, that was not the case. “Fuck you,” he spat. Had he a pair lips, they would have been pulled back to display his sharpened teeth. The limit of his displeasure, however, was shown only the slight crinkling of his nostrils and the narrowing of his eyes. 

The King only laughed, smiling wider, “I was considering going easy on you, but I see my little pet has some anger he needs to vent~” His teasing tone only served to further antagonize the already angered monster. 

Before he could retort both of his legs were grabbed and lifted. Asgore pulled them close, nestling himself between the spread legs. He leant forward before abruptly, and without further warning provided, forced his length inside of the skeleton, pushing it deeper until he was completely hilted. 

Papyrus shrieked, his claw-like fingers tearing at the bed below him. He had not been prepared in the slightest, barely a drop of moisture to have been produced from the lacklustre foreplay. “N-No please- please take it out,” he managed to beg in between clenched teeth, groaning in pain as he desperately fought to relax his formed magic. 

Asgore snarled softly, looming over him and seemingly making no effort to do as he was asked. “Perhaps you should have considered that before speaking so rudely. I gave you a warning earlier, but it would seem you are a slow learner, so perhaps this will help you to keep your tongue in check.”

Papyrus let loose another sound of pain as the King began to rock his hips, pulling his lengthy cock almost entirely out at a pace that was painfully slow to endure. 

Almost as soon as he had pulled out, Asgore thrust back inside, harsher and with far more intent than the previous entry. From there he began to build a rhythm, easily ignoring Papyrus’ small cries of pain at the painful friction against the walls of his dry cunt. 

His body had immediately begun to try and produce enough magical juices to ease the passage, but it was blatantly obvious that the King was not intending for Papyrus to enjoy their session. The point was only further highlighted by yet another unreasonably severe thrust. 

Asgore continued at his uncomfortable pace for what felt like hours for the young skeleton, making his enjoyment of the sadistic situation quite obvious. Eventually, however, he began to speed up, pushing faster and deeper, but no longer out of a deliberate desire. 

Unfortunately, Papyrus had derived himself no pleasure from the action, his own body having yet to fully elicit the enjoyment he should have long since received from the act of being mated. He only felt uncomfortably tight around a member that already had a girth and length that pushed his body to its limits, even when he was dreadfully aroused. His body had lost its warmth, growing cold and clammy. There was nothing he wanted more than to curl up and preserve the little heat he had managed to retain. 

He placed a hand over his own mouth, forcing back pained whimpers as he tried his hardest to ignore the steadily swelling cock within him. He could feel Asgore’s hot breath heavy against his own face, watching as the massive monster began to slowly slip into an almost maddened state of lust, appearing to have cast aside his usually strategic mindset in favour of release. 

Papyrus could feel himself begin to loosen, for each drive of Asgore’s body into his own became increasingly desirable. Finally, his body was ready and willing to receive the other monster. It was most unfortunate for him that the moment he was prepared to enjoy their attempted breeding, Asgore gave several erratic thrusts before finishing with a deep moan. 

Much to the skeleton’s distress, he pulled out almost immediately after the last drop of seed had been released into his mate, taking a moment to enjoy the sight of the monster below him as he set about catching his breath. 

“I don’t have to be nice to you Papyrus, I simply need to use you,” Asgore curled his clawed fingers around Papyrus’ chin, gently tilting it upwards, “It is entirely up to you how you are to be treated. Behave, and I will treat you as I would a lover, but should you choose to make this difficult? Well. I will be sure to respond accordingly.” 

He moved away, hand slipping from his face before stepping off the side of the bed, “What happened tonight is an example of what would await you, should you act so childish in the future,” he began to redress, “And believe me, I can do far worse should you require more… persuasion.”

Once dressed Asgore turned to leave. Before he could quite step through the door, however, he turned back to Papyrus, “This room is far too long a walk from mine, tomorrow evening you will meet me there. I shall send a guard to escort you.” And with that he was gone. 

A long time passed after the King left where Papyrus did nothing. He stared upwards at the ceiling, his body shaking in the cool evening air as the remnants of cum that stuck to the bedsheets and the skeleton’s ribs dried. He was aware how difficult it would be to clean once it had hardened, but in that moment, it was the least troubling matter plaguing his mind. 

Without his notice Papyrus had begun to cry. His whole body had been grossly defiled in some sick form of so called punishment, and he was then expected to willingly allow it. He struggled up into a sitting position, curling his arms about his legs. The thought of continuing to lay with the King night after night for as long as it took to conceive, it was incomprehensible.

He didn’t want to do it.

He _couldn’t_ do it. 

His breaths had become sharp and shallow. He gulped down air like a man drowning, yet none of it could fill his non-existent lungs. His body began to rock back and forth with each failed attempt at breathing, his mind caught in a panicked trance. He was unable to breathe, yet at the same time unable to pry his mind off the horrors of his situation long enough to do so. 

By then tears streamed down his skull in torrents, not that he cared how weak he may have seemed. As far as Papyrus was concerned he was about to dust, fear clouding all of his senses. 

“Papyrus.” 

He had grown light headed, his mind unable to choose whether the threat of whatever was scaring him or the threat of running out of oxygen was the more pressing matter. He forced his eyes closed as he desperately tried to breathe, wheezing and choking in between sobs. 

“Papyrus breathe,” Finally the sound of the voice broke through his hazed mind long enough to catch his attention. “Shhh~” The voice was gentle, hushing him as though he were a young child, “You’re okay, just breathe.”

He inhaled deeply, managing to shakily hold in the air for a few moments before releasing it once more. “That’s it, there you go,” a soft hand began to caress his back as the back of his skull was tenderly nuzzled. 

Papyrus was exhausted. It took a while for his breathing to calm and his tears to finish raining down. He leant back, sleepily making himself comfortable as he began to drift off. He was far too tired to do anything but sink all of his weight into the soft surface he was resting upon. The stroking of his spine began to slow as he finally fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter in which brotherly fluff and foreshadowing occurs >:3

Papyrus refused to raise his head from its position buried firmly into one of the pillows at the head of the bed. He clutched a second pillow tightly to his chest, contorting his whole body to curl around it, hanging from it as though it were the only lifeline he possessed. 

The whole day seemed to simply dissolve into nothing but a hazed mixture of pain and exhaustion, oblivious to anything and everything happening around him. He had missed at least two meals, the food growing cold and tasteless as it sat abandoned on one of the nearby tables. One of the maids had attempted to rouse his interest in some of the food items, or at least a glass of water, to no avail. He simply pulled the pillow closer to himself and fought harder to tune out the rest of the world, refusing to speak a word. 

He had begun to fall in and out of consciousness, his body aching and tired, yet unable to sleep for such a long period. The part of him that had not quite resigned itself to simply drifting away, was urgently trying to tell him to get up, to simply stay alive, and not allow himself to chance falling down. He was better than that, he deserved better than such a pathetic fate. 

It was late in the afternoon when Papyrus finally managed to sit himself up, glaring out of the window at the monsters visible below with no small amount of scorn. It took every ounce of his strength to not fall back onto the bed again, and it took an even greater level of forced motivation to physically remove himself from it, standing on legs that were so weak a soft gust of wind may very well have toppled him over. 

On top of the dresser Papyrus found a new set of clothes. He inspected each expertly made piece thoroughly, rather impressed by the promptness with which he had received the clothing items. He managed to dress himself slowly, and he had almost finished when there was a knock on the door, momentarily snapping him from his rather bleak mindset. A guard entered, one of the ones Papyrus had encountered the day before. 

The monster stood silently in the doorway, waiting patiently for the skeleton to finish his rudimentary task. Papyrus couldn’t quite piece together why the guardsman had decided to come at that time; he was certain it was too early for the King to have sent for him. 

Fortunately, he had near enough finished, taking only a moment to quickly position his scarf back in its rightful place. Reluctant as he might have been to leave the room and brave the rest of the castle, he had little further say in the matter with the rather large reptile obviously beginning to grow impatient, signaled by its rather loud, over-dramatic sighing. 

“Where am I meant to be going?” Papyrus still couldn’t quite muster the stamina required to make his voice sound anything but monotone and disinterested. His sockets were still drooped, barely able to remain open, as his expression remained cold and unwelcoming. 

“I have been informed that I will be your escort for the rest of the day. You are free to roam around the castle at your leisure, but I must accompany you.” The guard sounded just as unimpressed and irritated by the situation as Papyrus had, the monster crossing his arms over his chest, likely frowning behind his helmet. 

“I suppose I should look around,” Papyrus breathed, hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his new slim pants. It was an old habit, one he didn’t care to break - it helped to curb any feelings of anxiousness, giving his hands something to play with without appearing odd, and assisted in feigning a relaxed demeanor. 

Only monsters who were completely confident with their strength and abilities ever allowed themselves to appear calm. It was a means of proving to other monsters that they were powerful enough to have no fear. This, however, did not mean they had their guard lowered, it was merely a facade of placidity, used to lure in unwitting monsters and keep at bay stronger ones. 

The castle walls were dreary as always, their dull grey cobbled surface having very little features of attraction, and the severe lacking of any form of decor only worsened the deeper they went. The palace was, put simply, mind-numbingly boring. Papyrus couldn’t stand the aimless wandering, the bare walls and the overall emptiness. 

He eventually came across the castle’s kitchen and decided it would be far more interesting than stalking the halls for hours upon hours. 

The kitchen was perhaps the homeliest area throughout the entire palace. It was warmed by the heat of open flames on stoves and the multiple ovens that produced the simply divine aroma of freshly cooked bread. The counter tops were each coated in a thick layer of flour where some monsters set about kneading more dough, while others were combining various ingredients to make other pastries. 

They were all rushing about, carrying trays of food from one place to another, snouting numerous instructions to other monsters as they went. There was a great deal of mess; pots and pans filled with unknown chard meats, and crumbs and spilt liquids making the floor rather hazardous to anyone seeking to remain clean. Worst of all were the piles of dishes that simply sat in the empty sinks, food already firmly crusted onto the utensils and plates. 

Oddly enough, the chaotic mess felt somewhat familiar, reminding him of the state Undyne and himself would leave the Royal Guard Captain’s kitchen in after an attempt at cooking. 

A wooden bench off to the corner stood out stark against the rest of the metallic appliances and stainless steel workbenches, and Papyrus found himself gravitating towards it. There were a number of drawers below the bench, and when he pulled out one he found it was filled with paper and books.

On closer inspection he found that they were all old recipe books. The papers were all yellowed and the print was faded on the vast majority of them, but the wording was still discernible. He began to browse through them, glancing momentarily at the name of each food, finding nothing of much interest. 

It wasn’t until he had reached the final recipe that his interest was piqued. It seemed simple enough to make, especially with Papyrus’ spectacular culinary skills. He wondered briefly why the document had been hidden all the way at the back of the pile as he folded the paper, saving it for later use. 

Seeing nothing of further interest he began to silently slink out of the kitchen, taking with him the new recipe. It sounded quite fun to try and create a Butterscotch and Cinnamon pie. 

Papyrus and the guard following him continued on their course through the castle. They passed no other rooms of significance and the lanky skeleton quickly began to grow bored with the quiet surrounds. “Is there _anything_ to do here?” he grumbled softly, coming to a stop and glancing back towards the guard.

The other monster thought for an embarrassingly long moment. It was rather poor that even a palace guard couldn’t come up with anything of even the slightest interest. “There’s the Royal Library,” he suggested slowly, evidently still trying to rack his brain for anything he might have missed. 

Papyrus, unfortunately, was more of a tactile learner - while he had no doubt about the importance of books, having a fair collection of them himself, he couldn’t exactly imagine himself spending his days cooped up in a small dusty room reading. “Would I be able to see the courtyard?” he was beginning to realise just how desperate he was for the feeling of fresh air on his bones, and while the courtyard was not inside, it was technically still a part of the castle. 

They had stopped nearby to the palace entrance; the idea of being so temptingly close to freedom was cruel. Papyrus was positive that if he truly tried he’d be able to escape, although making it all the way back to Snowdin would be an impossibility. Asgore would never let him get that far. 

He crossed his arms, mentally cursing as he felt his anger slowly begin to rear its ugly head once again. He wanted to shout at someone, break something, do anything just to let out his spitefully outraged emotions. In truth, Papyrus knew that deep down he was just scared, but he covered it up with anger, with pure unrelenting hatred. It was easier for him to accept being angry. 

Before the guard could respond to him there was the distant sound of shouting, and Papyrus immediately forgot about his bad mood. He was quick to move, practically leaping down the hallway, and near enough skidding around the corner in his haste. 

“Sans?”

There was a sweeping silence that had immediately taken the place of the monsters’ boisterous bickering. The two tall monsters who had been guarding the the palace reception each spared Papyrus only a fleeting glance, before returning their focus to the small monster who was evidently the cause of the scuffle. 

Sans, who had seemed just about ready to tear at the two guards snapped his attention towards his brother, his face changing between anger, relief and mild confusion within a matter of seconds. He moved to step past the larger monsters, only to have his path blocked by a pair of large metal staves. He growled, scowling up at the staves’ owners, his phalanges twitching in anticipation, readying to attack at any given moment.

“No, let him pass,” Papyrus tried to growl in his firmest tone, his voice holding steadfast, refusing to quiver in uncertainty “He’s with me.” 

Despite what he thought a reasonable request, the guards still hesitated, glancing to one another and then between the two skeleton brothers. While Papyrus did not hold a rank of great seniority, he was certain that he still outranked a handful of common palace guards. Unless, perhaps, when Asgore had ‘warned’ them of him he had also been stripped of all previous power from his role as guardsman. The thought alone was enough to sour his already bitter mood. 

The guard that had been tailing Papyrus stood silently behind him, observing the scene with great caution. He gave a slow nod to the other two armoured monsters, an obvious signal of approval. 

Sans simply continued to scowl up at the guards, even as they stepped aside to allow him passage. He shoved his hands back into the pockets of his furred jacket, beginning to stomp towards Papyrus. Once he had stopped before the younger sibling his ire was no longer directed at the other monsters, rather at the taller skeleton. 

“Where the fuck’ve you been?” 

Papyrus couldn’t help developing his own glare, sighing at his brother’s lack of subtlety and the rather demanding nature of his question. Discussing his whereabouts in front of the numerous monsters surrounding them was far from what he desired. “Come with me,” he growled, ensuring to provide a scowl sufficient enough to ensure his brother knew there was no argument to be made about it. He pivoted around, beginning to stalk away without another word, trusting that if Sans wanted answers he would follow without complaint. 

Fortunately, he did as told, following after and quickly falling into step at Papyrus' side. He seemed less than impressed, and rather impatient for answers, furrowing his non-existent brows at him and eying him skeptically as they walked. 

The whole journey was made in a almost painful silence, Papyrus reluctant to speak a word - lest his stoic appearance crack - and Sans ensuring to make sure his annoyance was well known through the use of irritated facial expressions, emphasized by his overly dramatic sighs and quiet grumbles. Papyrus couldn’t have been more relieved when they finally reached his room.

He held open the door, allowing his older brother to enter before closing it once more behind them. 

The moment the door closed he was assaulted by Sans’ harsh voice, “You’d better have a real good excuse for this one Pap-” he snapped, catching the other off guard with his anger, “I was callin’ ya all day yesterday, so unless your deaf you’ve been ignoring me.”

Papyrus took a moment to contemplate his response. He had long since lost his nonchalant facade, his whole body slouched tiredly and his face scrunched up guiltily. He was certain Sans would have been worrying himself sick over his rather abrupt disappearance. “Look, I’m sorry if I worried you, but there wasn’t much I could do,” before he had the chance to continue he was cut off. 

“Sorry? That’s seriously all you can say?” Sans was beyond angry, throwing wide his previously crossed arms “You can’t just say ‘oh I’m going to go to talk to the King’. Y’know, the guy who dusts monsters for fun? Then just decide to fuckin’ vanish into thin air.” He had begun pacing, his hands coming up to rub his skull. “Do you have any idea how stressed I’ve been? You could have been dead for all I knew! Did you not even take the time to consider how I’ve been feeling these past few days?”

Papyrus felt his own anger begin to boil. It seemed as though Sans had come for no reason other than to complain of his own woes, not even sparing a moment to even ask if he was alright. 

“No, Sans,” His phalanges were bundled up into closed fists, trembling with how tightly he was clenching them; the pointed tips of his fingers digging harshly into his palms, “I haven’t taken the time to consider how you have been feeling.”

Sans seemed to hesitate in making a response upon hearing the younger’s scathing tone, “But you know what? You’re not the only person who has been living through hell these past through days,” he was hard pressed to keep his voice from cracking, his tone involuntarily wavering from its harshness, “If I could have contacted you I would have, but I’m being held here like some God-forsaken prisoner!” he practically shrieked, “I can’t leave, I can’t talk to anyone outside of the palace, I can’t even walk around without being followed by some guard - and the King - t-the King, h-he,” 

Papyrus was forced to pause his rant, his every breath ragged and uneven as his bones shook and his sockets burned with unshed tears. He couldn’t say it aloud, no matter how hard he tried he simply stood there with his mouth agape, choking on the very words. “H-He raped me.” He forced out, looking away, unable to look his brother in the eyes. How weak he must have looked, shaking and on the verge of tears, confessing he’d been forced to mate with another monster against his will, “How selfish of me to be worried about my own life and not consider how you felt about all this.”

“Papyrus, I-” Sans seemed at a loss for words, his expression that of complete devastation and utter pity. Papyrus hated it with ever fiber of his being, despised how pitiful he obviously was, even to a measly one HP monster, “I’m so sorry, i-if I’d known…”

Sans reached forward, gently grasping at his Radius, caressing the bone uncertainly with his thumb in a weak attempt at keeping them both calm. “Shit,” he cursed through clenched teeth, “I’m so, so sorry Pap, I-I shouldn’t’ve shouted at you like that.”

The tall skeleton ignored his rather hypocritical attempt at an apology, a quiet sob escaping him, “I’m s-so scared Sans,” he hiccuped, “I-I don’t know wh-what to do.” Warm crimson drops fell freely from the corner of his sockets; he no longer possessed the pride to hold them back. He tried to move away, but Sans simply tugged at his arm, directing him towards the bed where he promptly pulled the larger skeleton into his embrace.

“It’s okay Pap, you’re okay, we’re going to be okay,” he began to whisper soft words of encouragement, his hand moving from its position on the other’s arm and down to his spine, beginning to rub soothing circles into the sensitive vertebrae. 

Papyrus cried, sobbing grossly into his brother’s shoulder as he desperately clung to him, no longer able to show even the slightest degree of restraint over his emotions. Everything hurt, his body, his head, and most of all his soul. It felt good to finally let loose his pent up fear and anger, and it felt even better to have someone so familiar, so trustworthy to share the burden. 

When he finally managed to regain some form of composure, Papyrus was once more completely drained, his throat raw and hoarse from what felt like hours of endless bawling. It was hard for him to think straight, his mind stewed by tiredness and melancholy. 

He eventually pried himself from his brother’s arms, glancing away rather awkwardly, suddenly feeling rather sheepish after such an embarrassing display of emotions. “Sorry,” he breathed, “I’d hoped to have had a little more self-control than that.” He brushed any rogue patches of watery magic from his face, praying there were no red stains left behind. 

Sans simply fell backwards, landing on the mattress of the bed with a soft thump, “Don’t say that,” he sighed, closing his eyes tiredly, “It’s not your fault.” His hand loosely held Papyrus’ arm, lazily playing with the limp appendage. 

Papyrus grumbled to himself before joining his brother led on the bed. He rolled over onto his side, facing the smaller skeleton, before pulling his legs closer to his chest and loosely curling his arms around himself. They led in silence, both monsters lost in their respective thoughts. Even as darkness began to creep into the small room they were reluctant to speak, or even move.

“What should we do?” Sans finally asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

He couldn’t help chuckling at the question, he had spent countless hours musing over the question in his lonesome. He had no answer that hadn’t already crossed both their minds - there was nothing to do but wait until a better opportunity crossed their path - until then, Papyrus would have to play along, be the good little bitch the King desired. “I’m not sure,” he mumbled back, “But I’ll tell you what-” He stretched out, crawling further onto the bed so he could lay outstretched, “I could do with a good nap.” He was completely worn, and now that his attention no longer dwelled on such a depressing topic, he noticed just how utterly ravenous he was. 

“Who are you, and what’ve you done with my little bro,” The shorter skeleton snickered, pointing a finger in mock accusation. 

Papyrus rolled his eyes, “Shut up, Sans.”

“Whatever you say, Boss,” he smirked, a certain mischievous glint in his eyes, trying not to laugh a little too obviously, “But, I guess you could say...” Papyrus narrowed his eyes in warning, “… you’re royally fucked-” 

Sans only laughed when he was ferociously attacked with a pillow.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flowey is a dick. Papyrus continues to internally scream. Asgore is also a dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long to update, I’ve been suffering from Glandular Fever and have been very sick this past month. Some personal stuff also prevented me from working on writing.

The forests of Snowdin were no welcoming place. The snow lay thick across the ground, making walking a most troublesome task, with all attempts at traversing it slow and exhausting to the unprepared monster. Fortunately, Sans needn’t travel far from the town. 

Despite the bitter winds that howled through the ancient pines, and the fresh snowflakes that peppered the air, the short skeleton knew exactly where he was going, and with any luck, he would arrive just in time. Annoying as it might have been to repeat the same process many times over, he knew without doubt that he needed to continue onwards, lest he be caught unaware again. 

Papyrus had been outraged at Sans’ allegedly playful joke. After being beaten thoroughly with a pillow, the tall skeleton practically shrieked in indignation. He had, of course, predicted such a reaction and didn’t bother offering any form of resistance when he was shoved from the room. He was, however, mildly disappointed.

Eventually, long after the frigid gales had ceased their fierce attack, he came across a small clearing. On a normal day, there would be no discerning features about the area, save for the lack of tightly packed trees. On that evening, however, in the very centre of the snowy grass stood a small, golden flower. 

“Howdy bone bag!” The plant leered, “what brings you out on this lovely evening? Not spending it with dear Papyrus?”

Sans couldn’t resist sneering at the sickly sweet tone of the buttercup’s voice, shoving his hands firmly into the fur-lined pockets of his jacket, “You know exactly why I’m here, _weed_.” 

Flowey began to bounce up and down on his stem, giggling childishly, his grin wide and more than a little unsettling. “Awe, is Papyrus not enjoying this fun little game of mine?” he asked, cocking his head, smile only growing, “Isn’t it funny how the tiniest little thing can completely change the outcome of everything?” By then he was almost wheezing with laughter. 

“I’m glad you’re enjoyin’ yourself, ya’ little shit, but it’s really startin’ to lose its humor now.” The flower began to compose himself, all the while his smirk never faltering, “How’s about you just go back and clear up this mess?” 

Four times. Sans had been forced to watch his brother suffer the King’s mistreatment four times over. He wasn’t certain he would be able to handle a fifth. 

The first time it had happened, he had been horrified, breaking down in panic at his younger brother’s words. The guards were forced to drag him away, kicking and screaming, and had been fully prepared to have a less than polite talk with their malevolent leader. In hindsight, perhaps it had been fortunate the flower had reset before he’d had the chance. The second time followed much the same, but by the third, he had begun to get a grip on himself and his unruly emotions. It had been in that run he decided to try something new. 

He had told Papyrus the most ill-timed, inconsiderate joke he could think of. It had made him feel lower than a Moldsmal to joke about Papyrus’ terrible situation, but he needed to know if his theory was correct. Surely, he wasn’t the only monster to remember reliving the same few days again and again. He had thought that if he said something extremely memorable that it too would have been unforgettable. 

Unfortunately, the only reward he had reaped from the words he had so carefully sewn was an angry brother. He couldn’t wait for the tiny plant to finally grow bored of messing around with Papyrus and setting everything back to its rightful place. Then he could simply go on normally and no longer be burdened by the guilt of trying to deliberately hurt his little brother’s feelings when he was already so vulnerable. 

“Nah.” 

Sans started, taking a long moment to blink and process what Flowey had said, “The hell do you mean?” he snapped, his eyes narrowing on the flower. 

“I said ‘Nah’, as in ‘no’, ‘nope’, ‘no way’.” When he smiled his face almost seemed to have been torn in half with how broad the grin was, “Wouldn’t it be more fun to see what happens next, eh Smiley Trash Bag?” The condescension in his tone was thicker than the ice they stood on, “We could see how ol’ Papyrus fares with his new… ‘job’. You certainly did well if your plan was to drive him away from you, I wonder if he’ll fall down now that he doesn’t have a brother to look out for him?” 

Without further hesitation Sans reached out with his magic, attempting to turn the other monster’s soul blue. He froze. Flowey, of course, had no soul - he wasn’t sure how he had so easily forgotten such an important detail - his blue magic had no effect on the cursed weed. 

Regardless, Flowey backed off, his body slithering across the ground as though he were an emerald snake, his voice providing a matching hiss, “See ya’ around Sans, I look forward to our next chat about this little game of ours~” And before Sans could lunge for him, he ducked down and into the soil below.   
The serene silence of the woods was broken by an angered scream. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To say Papyrus was upset would have been an understatement. His jaw had begun to ache due to the harsh pressure of both rows of teeth scraping against one another. But it was a welcome distraction from the storm of thoughts and sharp emotions colliding within his mind. 

Did Sans care so little about him that he would treat his situation as little more than a joke? He had known that his brother could be rude and inconsiderate, but even he should have known he was taking it too far. It was impossible for it to have been an accident, and even if it was, Papyrus would still have been less than impressed. 

Yet something still felt wrong. He could not place exactly what was odd about his older brother’s words, yet they continued to plague his thoughts. It was possible that it was not the first time Sans had used the pun - it was far from an uncommon phrase - but it had a certain deja vu feeling surrounding it that he could not quite place. 

Never the less, Papyrus had been hurt. His already wounded soul beat uneasy within his chest, sending jolts of restlessness that did little to soothe his nervous tension. He had turned to his brother for help; to provide him guidance in his darkest hour, but perhaps he had been naïve to assume Sans would always be able to save him every time he was in peril. 

Perhaps he simply didn’t want to. 

The thought was enough to make the tall skeleton feel nauseous, his arms curling around himself as he silently pondered the idea. He felt entirely useless and it quickly became apparent how pathetic he must have seemed if even a weak 1 HP monster could laugh at how helpless his whole situation was. His arms had begun to quiver, the pain of his jaw coming back anew as he clenched his teeth together to keep them from chattering as he sought to hide his internal agony. 

He had let it happen to him, he was too cowardly to fight back, it was all his fault. No wonder he was in such an unenviable predicament, and it was no wonder his brother obviously thought so little of him. Papyrus felt no ire toward him, he was the one to blame after all. 

He hadn’t realised he’d stopped breathing until he suddenly had to gasp for air, finally noticing the trance he had somehow gone into. He had been stool stock still, save for his skull that had been bobbing up and down as his mind began to race through all of his mistakes, all of the reasons he had put himself in that horrific place, all of the reasons he and he alone was to be held accountable for being claimed and forced to stay locked away. 

No. Papyrus sucked in a deep breath, holding it for several painful seconds before releasing it slowly. He allowed his eyes to slip closed, clearing his thoughts and focusing on nothing but the act of steadying his breathing. Every time his mind attempted to wander to anything else he would force it back to focusing on the calming act. 

Fortunately, it didn’t take long until his shoulders were slumped forward in a sensation of contentment, rather than in a panicked attempt at curling in on himself. He wasn’t certain how he had dissolved into such a mindless state of self-hatred, but it had not been pleasant in the least. 

Once he had thought that he had only the strictest measure of control over his emotions, but his most recent behaviour had seen to shattering that illusion. While Papyrus might have been able to force his feelings to remain buried deep within himself, he had never been made to truly confront them. Anger was nothing new to him, but vulnerability, that was something he had known only long ago and had hoped to never encounter to such a degree again. 

The Underground was a fierce and dangerous place as all knew, and not even the innocence of a child could be spared, no matter how hard one tried to protect it. For a child living a life on the streets, there was little chance of such an idealistic outlook having ever existed. Every homeless child was the same, desperately searching for even the smallest flicker of kindness just to survive another day, only to have that idea of mercy smothered as they slowly grew to understand the truth of their bitter existence. The strong survived. The strong were not kind. 

Yet, even at that age, Papyrus had never been alone. Sans had looked after them both, going above and beyond others of his age to provide some food or find a place for them to sleep away from the monsters bustling through the city, or out of the heavy rains of Waterfall. It was them against the rest of the Underground – two children with only each other and a load of determination to rely on. 

But Papyrus was alone. His brother had left, unlikely to bother returning for him, and his determination had withered away. He was uncertain if there could ever be hope for a monster with so little left to hold on to. 

Papyrus pointedly ignored the knocking on his door, glaring out the window as he stroked his chin in silent thought. He had been alone for hours; the only disturbance having been the maid delivering his assigned lunch. He had, of course, ignored the offering out of childish spite, preferring to grumble to himself quietly. 

Despite the fact he refused to acknowledge the person seeking entrance, the door to his room was pushed open, the hinges creaking with the weight of the heavy oak they held. The sound of steel boots clattering against the smooth stone floor served well to shatter the previous silence. Papyrus didn’t need to turn to know the guard who had been stationed outside his room had entered. 

“What do you want?” he snarled, his voice far from kind. 

There was a moment of quiet, the guard seeming to take his time with his response, either unsure of himself or allowing the skeleton monster a moment to calm his rage, “The King requests your presence this evening, sir.” 

“I will be out in a minute” he breathed, shoulders sinking down in mild defeat. Although he had spent hours on his lonesome, it felt as though he had not a moment truly to himself. 

As the guard exited the room, Papyrus took to cradling his skull in the palm of his hand, sighing before scraping his fingers down the remainder of his face as if tearing from it his look of despair, allowing his arm to drop back onto his lap afterwards. He spent a moment taking in the now dimly lit city below, watching as a few monsters scuttled from street light to street light, daring not to spend a moment longer than necessary in the darkness. 

He stood, straightening out his only clean pair of clothes, praying to any and all gods that it would be sufficient. He dreaded to think that he might not be wearing his clothes for much longer. Papyrus reluctantly left the room, pausing a moment to wait for the guard to lead the way. 

Asgore’s accommodation was at the very far end of the castle, somewhat detached from the main building. From the outside, it appeared a modest cottage, surrounded by patches of golden flowers, and on the inside, it was painted with homely shades of yellow and brown. As if the house wasn’t warm enough a blazing fire sat alight in the hearth. 

It all seemed to be completely juxtaposed by the large goat monster that stood by the fireplace, missing his usual plated armour, yet still appearing cruel and powerful as ever. The sight of him alone was enough to tear the previous warmth of the welcoming home from Papyrus’ body, leaving his bones feeling cold and stiff.

He hadn’t noticed the guard had left until the King gestured for him to approach, finally turning his gaze from the flames to focus on the smaller monster. Although his poster was slightly hunched from leaning over to inspect the burning logs, Asgore was still far taller than Papyrus, leering down at him slyly as he watched his cautious approach. 

Despite the unwelcome jittering of his legs, Papyrus managed to drag himself to his captor’s side, standing silent, his posture painfully erect. The King looked back towards the fire, watching it flicker and flare, the sound of crackling wood quickly consuming the quiet surrounds. 

“You haven’t been eating,” Asgore continued to stare into the fireplace, the reflection of the flames upon his dark eyes strengthening his heated tone. “You understand that that simply won’t do, yes?” he growled, eyes narrowing on the fire as Papyrus meekly nodded, “Good. I expect that when you are given food, you eat it without complaint.” 

For a moment longer, he fell quiet, before finally turning to regard the skeleton. He raised a paw, cupping the side of Papyrus’ skull and tilting it upward, forcing him to meet the larger monster’s gaze, refusing to hide how he enjoyed the way Papyrus’ breath quickened at the contact. He gently stroked his thumb down the young monster’s face, drinking in all of his features as he did so, “Such a pretty thing, it would truly be a crime to let you waste away.” 

Papyrus attempted to pull away from Asgore’s grasp when he leant down but was unable to break from the vice-like grip forcing him to remain still while a soft kiss was planted on the side of his head. The King chuckled softly, “Still trying to resist, hm? Such a naughty thing~” he purred, smirking playfully, “I do so enjoy your defiance.” 

Before he had a chance to react, Asgore moved forward again, pressing his mouth onto Papyrus’ sharp teeth. A small startled gasp was all he needed to slip his tongue into the gap between his teeth, attacking his mouth with a vigour he had been unprepared for. His arms raised, trying to push the invading monster’s body away in panic with a muffled yelp. 

As soon as the assault had begun it finished, the goat monster releasing Papyrus and taking a step back, allowing him a moment to try and comprehend what had happened. “Do you know what else I enjoy Papyrus?” He had begun to shake again, his breathing far from calm as he battled with the fight or flight response pounding in his skull, “I enjoy knowing that no matter how hard you do try to defy me, I will always win in the end. You are mine, and I am quite happy to continue reminding you of that until it sinks into that pretty little head of yours.” 

“Now, why don’t we sit down and enjoy some nice dinner, my sweet pet?” his tone had completely changed, from cruel and commanding to soft. And yet, although his words were laced with a fine layer of sugar they were still capable of causing the skeleton a great deal of discomfort, uneasy shivers racing down his spine. 

At the far end of the living room the table had already been set, two plates of steaming food already laid out, one at either end of the table. Naturally, Papyrus chose the seat closest to the door, accustomed to being in close proximity to an exit at all times. Although it wasn’t as though he could exactly escape the King, he still took comfort in having the option to at least try should he get into a troublesome situation. 

He had been served what some might have called a simple roast, but to Papyrus’ starved body it looked like a meal fit for the Gods. The aroma of the cooked bird in front of him alone was enough to trigger his non-existent salivary glands, forcing him to begin swallowing small gulps of red magic. Regardless of his body’s eagerness to simply delve into the substantial offering, he still hesitated, lifting a fork only to begin pushing a slice of carrot around his plate, trying his best to ignore his ‘host’s’ gaze. 

It took a moment, but Papyrus finally managed to find his voice, “S-Sire, I- I’m really not very hungry-” his weak attempt at refusing the meal was quickly denied by a rather badly hidden growl and a harsh glare, the large monster pausing his dinner. Papyrus realised that the King was not going to continue until he was certain that the smaller monster had at least begun. 

Eventually, he began to slowly eat, doing his best to push past the ill feeling deep in his gut as he began a staring contest with some golden flowers that sat on the table. Fortunately, it wasn’t long until he began to speed up, seeming to only just realise how desperate he’d been for food after his impromptu fast. He was most disappointed when there was nothing left on his plate. He was then left in silence, awkwardly glancing about the room while he waited for the King to finish his own meal. 

Papyrus noticed that leading from the main living area was a humble kitchen, presumably for Asgore’s private use. He wondered if the King kept any cooking supplies on hand, or if it sat empty gathering dust in its years of disuse. 

In front of the fireplace sat a large chair, made from a bright crimson fabric with a tall back and thick wooden armrests on either side. In the middle of the chair sat a small book, presumably taken from the small bookshelf across the room. Its cover bore the scars of a long life, the words that had been printed along the spine far too faded to offer a clue as to the book’s contents. 

When Asgore had finally finished his meal, he pushed aside his plate, swilling down the final remaining drops of the red wine that had sat perched upon a rather ornate bar cloth. His movements were slow, feigning an almost disinterested air. 

“You enjoyed your dinner?” he asked, intertwining his fingers, and placing his hands daintily on the table. 

Papyrus hesitated a moment before nodding, swallowing to try and clear the dry lump in his throat, “Yes, it was… very nice,” he replied slowly. He had entirely removed his gaze from the other monster, yet somehow, he could still feel the intense way he was being watched. 

“Very good,” Asgore breathed, parting his hands and reaching for a stack of paperwork, “At the end of the hallway is the bathroom. Go clean yourself up and meet me in my bedroom once you are finished. It is the next room over from the bathroom.” He began sifting through the papers, already beginning to frown at whatever was written on them. 

Realising that was all the goat monster was going to say to him, Papyrus silently slid from his chair, walking backwards from the room, his instincts refusing to allow him to turn his back to his adversary. It was only once he had left the room that he began to look where he was going. 

Just as the King had said, the room at the far end of the house contained the bathroom, behind a sign warning of current construction. Oddly enough there seemed nothing wrong with the room, everything seeming in perfect working order. There was also a fresh towel hung over the side of the bath, and a long purple evening gown hanging from a metal railing. 

Papyrus quickly stripped of his clothes, folding them neatly and placing them on the side of the sink. He opened the shower door and quickly moved inside, closing the door firmly behind him before turning the knob for hot water. He ran his fingers through the falling droplets of warm water, testing the temperature was suitable before moving his whole body underneath the heavy stream. 

The feeling of the water running down his body helped to relieve a great deal of the tension that had built up in his bones, allowing him to close his sockets and simply enjoy the warmth and privacy. With a sigh he moved out of the water, searching momentarily for the body wash before beginning to cleanse himself of several days’ worth of dirt and grime. 

He turned up the heat of the water, starting by rubbing the soap over his skull, sparing a moment to massage his temples. 

Hotter. 

He moved on to his chest, creating a fine lather as he rubbed between each of his ribs and between each of the vertebrae of his spine. 

Hotter. 

His pelvis was sensitive, far more so than usual, but Papyrus was persistent, scrubbing the inside of his hips despite the discomfort it caused. 

Hotter. 

Finally, he began to wash his legs and feet, ignoring the way they ached as he cleaned them of sweat and the remnants of other foul liquids. 

The air was thick with steam, making it heavy on Papyrus’ non-existent lungs. The water was scalding, burning his bones in a way that would redden the skin of another monster. However, he took comfort in the feeling, the pain reassuring him that he was still alive, that his soul still beat strong within his chest. 

He cut the water, allowing himself a moment for the remaining drops to slide lethargically from his tired body. Only once he had shaken off all the water he could did Papyrus leave the large shower and reach for his towel, patting down the remaining wet patches of his body. 

He dumped the used towel into the empty washing basket and retrieved the robe from its hanger, bundling himself up within its cotton confines. Then, he snatched up his clothes, frowning in renewed discomfort as he left the relative secrecy of the bathroom. 

While he had been reluctant to leave, he found that he rather enjoyed the pleasantly refreshing scent of citrus that clung to his bones. A hearty meal and a long shower had done him good, soothing his restless spirit, if only for a few moments. He might have even been able to fool himself into thinking everything was okay for a split second. 

Unfortunately, as he moved towards the next room the nauseous feeling that had plagued him earlier returned full force. He breathed deeply, his breath shaking ever so slightly as he reached out with trembling phalanges and entered the room.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asgore decides to try something new in this session with Papyrus. Papyrus is not thrilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this current chapter: 
> 
> Explicit Sexual Content  
> Rape, Non-Consensual Sex  
> Mentioned Past Rape  
> Some Explicit Language  
> Light Bondage  
> Biting/Marking  
> Soul Sex  
> Forced Soul Bond  
> Non-Consensual Choking  
> Manipulative Behaviour  
> Obsessive and Possessive Behaviour. 
> 
> Follow my Tumblr for other fics and drabbles!

The room was dim when Papyrus finally entered. There were a few pleasantly scented candles that were obviously intended to set a relaxed, intimate mood. It took him a while, but he soon realised that the smell the candles were giving off was lavender – a flower known for the calming effects it elicited upon the mind – and a plant that was nigh impossible to obtain for any monster without a solid financial backing. While the candles did little to soothe the skeleton’s mounting anxiety, it was at the very least an enjoyable smell, and something that he could distract his senses with. 

It was a long while before Papyrus could finally muster the strength to look at the other figure in the room, unable to ignore the sensation of the gargantuan monster’s eyes bearing into his form from across the room. Despite the darkness, it seemed as though the King had been reading a novel of some sort while he had awaited Papyrus’ return. Now, however, the book sat abandoned on the monster’s lap as a smile slowly began to creep across his lips. 

“Ah, Papyrus,” he almost sounded surprised, as though he hadn’t entirely expected him to actually come of his own volition. He shifted from the bed, standing up to his full height to tower over the small monster. He then gestured to the place he had just been resting, feigning a gentle expression, “Why don’t you take those clothes off and come and lie down?” It wasn’t a question, judging by the way he tilted his head in the bed’s direction. 

Although his legs felt as though they were made from lead, he somehow found himself moving as he was directed. He paused for a moment, turning his back to the massive monster as he began to undress, trying his utmost to ignore the feeling of being watched. With shaking hands, he folded over the clothes and placed them down on the nearest table. He doubted he would need his clothes again until much later. 

Eyeing Asgore cautiously as he slowly slid onto the bed on the opposite side. He rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling intently as his body began to grow tense. He pretended not to notice the way the mattress dipped with an added weight, focusing his attention on remaining still while the over monster hovered over him. 

A soft paw grasped one of his wrists as Asgore began to thumb over the tiny bones with an interested hum. Papyrus couldn’t help glancing at him, already dreading that the King had in store for their evening. However, just as soon as Papyrus had mustered up the courage to ask, the goat monster released him, leaving the bed once more and beginning to rifle through one of the bedside cabinets. 

Papyrus felt his non-existent stomach drop when he saw what the King had retrieved, his mouth parting as numerous protests raged through his mind, yet none were spoken. He could only sit and watch as Asgore sat on the bed, resting a coil of rope beside him. 

“Give me your hands, Papyrus,” the monster breathed, providing a hand for the skeleton to place his own in. However, he hesitated. Papyrus wasn’t stupid, he knew exactly what Asgore was planning to do with his hands and a length of rope, and he was far from comfortable with the notion of being made completely helpless. Not that he could fight back against the stronger monster, it was merely to put his mind at ease. 

Asgore, unfortunately, did not seem pleased by his reluctance, reaching out to snatch Papyrus’ wrists with a soft growl. “I do hope I won’t have to remind you about your behaviour,” his voice was a mere rumble as he leaned down next to where Papyrus’ ear would have been, “But rest assured, I will repeat last night’s fun events if I must.” 

Papyrus was the last person that required a reminder of just what the King could do to those who didn’t behave exactly how he wanted. But there was something else in the large monster’s eyes, a glint of something that he couldn’t quite narrow down on. It was when Asgore smirked, with his large fangs bared out in full, yet with a mischievous spark that made it look almost as though he was enjoying Papyrus’ refusal. 

He grunted softly, trying to pull his arms free, only for Asgore to tighten his grip, grin widening minutely at the sight, “There’s no point struggling Papyrus,” he stated matter-of-factly, “Although it does add a certain degree of entertainment.” 

Papyrus froze. Entertainment. The King was making his suffering all the worse, just for a spot of entertainment. Papyrus didn’t want to do what Asgore told him, and Asgore didn’t want him to either. If he submitted and obeyed instruction then the King would have an easy ride and if he fought back then he would gather the satisfaction of subduing his partner and forcing him to do as he was bid. 

No matter what he did, Asgore would be the winner in the end. 

But Papyrus wouldn’t let him have his victory easily. Despite the fear that clung to his bones, a hot rage began to seep deep into his very soul, making him grit his teeth and try to pull away from the larger monster with renewed vigour – thrashing and growling and kicking his legs – so scared, so very, very scared, but refusing to be taken easily. 

Asgore growled softly, maintaining an impressively firm hold on Papyrus’ arms as he smirked down at the angered monster. With one swift movement, he had moved his leg to the other side of Papyrus’ body, effectively straddling him, despite the skeleton’s best effort to make the position as uncomfortable as possible. 

Unfortunately, the King did not seem off-put by the display, merely continuing to pin Papyrus’ arms above his head with one hand and grasping the rope with the other. He ignored the other monster’s protests, proceeding to wind the rough material around his wrists and between the slim bones of his arms. He pulled it all uncomfortably tight with a single yank, before then attaching his knotted bones to a section of the headboard with yet another inescapable bind. 

Papyrus pulled at it with his own displeased growl, testing just how much give the position would allow him. Finding that he was indeed unable to move his hands he narrowed his sockets at the large goat monster, wondering why he thought it necessary to have him restrained when he had never needed to do so before. 

The King, however, simply continued to look down upon Papyrus with his seemingly permanent smug expression. He looked at him with a flaming intensity, drinking in each and every one of his bones, entirely ignorant of the skeleton’s discomfort, however, that was nothing new. The day Asgore genuinely cared for the emotions of a monster other than himself was the day Sans picked up the sock plaguing their living room. In short, it was an impossibility. 

“I thought we would do something new tonight,” The monster hummed, speaking as though the past few days hadn’t been an entirely new experience for Papyrus, “I wanted to, of course, do this sooner, but I thought it best not to rush into something so intimate too quickly.” 

Papyrus shivered slightly at the implications of his words. He feared to find out what sort of activity the King considered crossing the boundaries of intimacy if he considered rape to be a completely acceptable first step. He felt Asgore slide his fingers down between his ribs, rubbing them gently. He ran along the deep scars that lined his chest and scraped his long claws along the sensitive floating ribs at the base of his chest, causing the bones to warm under his hands and take on a slight ruby hue where they connected with his spine. 

Papyrus, however, refused to acknowledge the sensation as pleasant, shifting about to make it as difficult a task as possible while he attempted to unbalance the larger monster by jerking his hips upwards. Had Asgore been a lighter monster, the sudden sideways thrust of his hips would have knocked him from his place seated on Papyrus’ lap, and allowed the skeleton an advantage over their situation. 

Unfortunately, he was still awkwardly pinned, trying to lean as far away from the advancing hands as was physically possible, all the while glaring and cursing quietly under his breath. A small gasp left him unbidden when a hand suddenly began roughly jerking along his spine, thick claws scratching at each vertebra and drawing unwanted pleasurable sensations each time the sharp tips of the claws ghosted over the intents along its length. 

He grumbled to himself, despising that his body was still behaving so receptively to the dangerous advances. Admittedly, the shivering of his bones was not entirely out of enjoyment, rather a mixture of it combined with some other emotion that left his non-existent stomach in knots. He felt nauseous at the very idea of being touched, despite how expertly Asgore manipulated his body between his fingers. 

He panted loudly, turning his skull away and forcing his eyes closed to try and gather himself and push down the unpleasant feelings that were quickly beginning to consume his mind. Unfortunately, Asgore would not allow it, gripping his chin and forcing him to look back at the larger monster, “What did I say about looking away, Papyrus?” he asked, grinning while one of his soft paws began to explore further down Papyrus’ body. 

He didn’t reply, deciding that scowling would communicate exactly how he felt about being forced to look at the other monster. “Apologies, Sire,” he spat, his tone more than a little sarcastic, “I didn’t want to get put off.”

Asgore merely chuckled, before his hand shot out, snatching Papyrus’ neck in a fierce grip and effectively choking out any further witty replies he might have had. “Such a poor temper tonight,” he hummed, leaning close while the skeleton writhed, “Perhaps I should try and rile you up more often, hmm?” He released Papyrus’ neck, but immediately replaced it with a tongue, swiping along the bones and dipping in between each of the grooves. 

Papyrus only grunted, his face burning up at their close proximity. Having regained the ability to speak he was about to make another snarky addition to his previous words when Asgore suddenly bit down on one of his vertebrae, causing him to yelp in surprise, whining weakly as the giant monster growled from around his neck. 

He tried to pull his hands back down so he could push the monster away, but was cut short by the restraints, causing him only to whine again. The inability to move freely seemed to almost heighten the senses of his body, every touch that he couldn’t stop felt all the more exciting, dazzling his mind with thoughts of what else Asgore could do to him. It was terrifying, that much was certain, but the adrenaline pumping through his body made it all seem a blur. The pleasant touches were tainted by the danger hanging in the air, and yet that only made his body react more strongly to the foreign stimuli. 

The King had long since retracted his teeth from the skeleton’s neck, moving to bite at each of his ribs in turn, revelling in the unrepressed breathy moans he drew from him. “Such a pretty thing,” he purred, biting down with a little more force than necessary purely to get another sound from the skeleton. 

Papyrus’ back began to arch slightly, his mind clouded by both the excitement and the fear of his soul. One moment he would be in the thralls of pleasure, and the next he felt as though he was on the verge of tears in utter terror. He didn’t want any of what was happening to him, and yet he couldn’t resist the natural urge to allow and perhaps even enjoy it. 

If Asgore had been considerate and gentle and let Papyrus come to him in his own time and on his own terms, then perhaps he would have loved the attention and adoration of someone so powerful. But instead, Papyrus found himself hating every moment of it, wishing he could simply shrivel up and disappear. He didn’t want to be there, didn’t even want to be acknowledged, let alone be pinned down and claimed while he whimpered in fear. 

He tried to remain focused and filled with rage for the injustices being forced upon him, but anger was an incredibly exhausting emotion and he was already tired out both physically and emotionally, and he had grown weak to his fears, allowing them to make him nothing more than a scared little baby bones. He wished he could be angry, for as he had recently learned, being filled with anxious thoughts was far worse than being annoyed. Anger could be quelled with an offering of gentleness and understanding, but fear would linger and fester and grow into something more dangerous. 

He gasped as Asgore’s hand wrapped around his pelvis, rubbing it firmly and attempting to encourage him to summon some magic that could be formed into, assumably, a cunt for the large member that was poorly hidden beneath the large monster’s robes. 

Papyrus decided to get his suffering over with as quickly as possible, relaxing as much as his nervousness would allow and letting the eager magic to glow crimson within his pelvic girdle. Much to his surprise, the King moved forward again, pressing his lips to the skeleton’s teeth and immediately pushing his tongue into his mouth the moment his teeth parted. 

In his eagerness, Asgore’s tongue had caught on one of Papyrus’ teeth, scratching the appendage and drawing from it a fine line of blood. However, the large monster seemed to only be invigorated by the superficial wound, intertwining his tongue with Papyrus’ in their brief battle of passions as he began to finger the slowly forming magic of his pelvis. The metallic taste soon filled the smaller monster’s mouth, causing his expression to scrunch up in distaste the moment Asgore pulled away. 

Papyrus’ pussy had formed around the large fingers currently running in and out of the organ. He was unable to stop himself from wincing in pain – his cunt was aching from several days of less than gentle use – even the large monster’s fingers were enough to send the occasional jolt of pain through his sore body. Papyrus was glad he needn’t walk around with his magic constantly formed and was thus spared the majority of the discomfort. 

He felt as Asgore continued to massage his opening, spreading his juices around the hole to lessen the strain on his already pained magic. He reached up again to continue playing with Papyrus’ ribs, winding his fingers between them and stroking along each rib in time with the finger playing with Papyrus’ clitoris. 

Papyrus was mewling loudly, his hands firmly clenched into fists as he mindlessly struggled against his bonds. The teasing had succeeded in taking his mind off the pain in from his pelvis, replacing it with the enjoyable feelings elicited by the rhythmic movements of Asgore’s hands.   
Eventually, Asgore began to slide two of his fingers back inside of Papyrus, coating them with the warmth of Papyrus’ core and gently stretching out his tight entrance. There was still a lingering pain that made the process mildly uncomfortable, but the slowness of Asgore’s pace made it tolerable. 

He groaned quietly when the goat monster began thrusting his fingers inside while also rubbing his clitoris once more, making his cunt far more accepting, and distracting him from the pain with spikes of pleasure. He was, without doubt, glad that Asgore had decided to treat him more delicately than the previous evening. The memory of it alone was enough to make him grit his teeth, his pussy clenching slightly on impulse. 

He forced himself to relax his body – too fearful of accidentally repeating their last session – the painful prospect was not one he was eager to consider for too long. Fortunately, the King quickly deemed him ready and spared a moment to unfasten the robe from around his large body, placing it down beside them once he was completely exposed. 

Asgore removed himself from Papyrus’ lap, positioning himself between the monster’s thighs. He gently kissed from his knee all the way to his pelvis, before moving to repeat the process on his opposite leg, all the while purring as he looked down upon his possession with a spark of mischief dancing across his eyes. 

Papyrus steeled his expression when Asgore lined himself up with his cunt, nudging the tip against the opening and rubbing some of his slick cum all along its length. He pushed inside slowly, stretching Papyrus painfully wide with every shove of his large cock, continuing oblivious to the agonised hisses of the skeleton until he was completely hilted. 

Despite the fat tears that had managed to escape his sockets, Papyrus bit down hard to muffle any further sounds. He expected Asgore to begin thrusting in and out, but instead, the monster paused, running a hand over Papyrus’ chest gently. “Don’t worry, Papyrus,” His words came out in a low grumble and from the way his hips twitched slightly, Papyrus could tell Asgore was trying to hold himself back, “So long as you do as I say this won’t be an unpleasant experience.” Before he could question what his words meant, the King reached inside Papyrus’ ribs, grasping his soul. 

Papyrus shrieked, all decency damned as he thrashed in panic. The feeling of someone else’s hand around his soul was a whole new level of wrongness, his entire being rejecting the unexpected handling. It was one thing to use Papyrus’ body without consent, but tampering with his soul, his very existence; that was crossing a line. 

“S-Stop it!” he snarled, his eyes screwing closed against the horrible feeling, “Let go of it! Stop touching it!” 

Asgore ignored him, instead pulling the small soul closer and up to his eyes. The feeling of someone considering his soul so deeply was unnerving and he could almost feel the intent crashing over him in waves. The large monster then moved forward, pressing a fleeting kiss to the white soul as it peacefully floated in place. 

Papyrus, however, was not as easily pacified, continuing to wretch his hands against the rope binding his hands above his head. Asgore was still pressed close, his cock still buried deep within his cunt. Papyrus hated being so firmly confined while a monster he had no affection for began to prod at his very essence, “I said, get fuck off my soul!” 

Asgore seemed to glance down at Papyrus as though he had only just realised that the other monster was there, “Now now, Papyrus,” he chuckled, glancing back at the soul as he began to tenderly kiss along its surface, “There’s no need for such antics, I already told you, so long as you follow my instructions correctly you will not be harmed.” Papyrus’ soul was minuscule when it was held in the palm of the goat monster’s hand, so fragile that the skeleton feared he might break it with a mere finger. 

Papyrus gave another firm tug on the ropes, ignoring the way his bones burned with the friction of his desperation to free his arms. He wanted to just grab his soul and run, but without magic and so awkwardly positioned there was no way he could stop the other monster from doing whatever he willed. There was only one possible option left, despite how the very idea of it made him feel even worse. “P-Please,” he whimpered, his breathing becoming laboured in his panic, “Please don’t hurt it.” 

Asgore gave the soul another nuzzle, humming softly in contemplation, “Of course I won’t hurt your soul, Papyrus, I promise you’ll be just fine” he laughed softly, summoning his larger soul from his own chest, “Besides, you’d be useless as a breeder if I damaged your soul.” Asgore’s soul was gently pushed up against Papyrus’, the two magical objects rubbing against one another. 

Papyrus yelped when a small tendril of magic sprung from the larger soul and pierced the side of the smaller. He was suddenly hit with an explosion of pleasure as a second joined the first in mingling with his soul. He almost didn’t notice when Asgore had begun thrusting into his pussy, too preoccupied with the behaviour of the two souls, but the sensation was quickly beginning to overwhelm him, especially as new tendrils of magic begun to cut into his soul, adding their influence to his mind. 

He could feel what Asgore wanted, he wanted him to relax, to accept and return the bond so they could be permanently bonded. Papyrus stubbornly refused, but with the pleasurable feeling of the other monster’s magic feeding into his own and Asgore’s influence being fed straight into his very being, it was a battle he quickly lost. 

He barely noticed the pain from Asgore using his cunt, the sensation completely overpowered by need as he felt his mind beginning to have less and less control over his actions. His thoughts were clouded by lust, and he could feel the King’s soul radiating warmth and protection, drawing in the terrified skeleton and encouraging him to bond.

He would be safe if he bonded. 

He would be looked after. 

He would be loved. 

Papyrus’ thoughts were no longer his own and so he lowered his defences, his soul producing a tendril of its own that it immediately speared into the other soul, quickly followed by several others as they began to combine with one another. The loving thoughts Asgore had been sending out were abruptly replaced with a possessiveness that had Papyrus reeling. It was an act, he realised, only seeing the danger he was in after it was far too late. 

“N-No-” he weakly whined, flailing about as Asgore simply continued to use him, body and soul, “Stop it!” He cried as though Asgore might actually halt the process. Despite the shock that was beginning to dawn on him, Papyrus was utterly exhausted. He could feel Asgore as he invaded his soul with his own magic, finally claiming both Papyrus’ body and soul as his property. 

Asgore suddenly cried out, finishing inside of the skeleton, and filling his body with yet more foreign magic. He huffed, panting heavily, his tongue lolling slightly from his mouth as he looked down upon Papyrus. His Papyrus. The skeleton didn’t need the soul connection to be able to feel just how possessive Asgore felt towards his sweet pet, purring loudly as he leaned down to press a small kiss to Papyrus’ forehead.

After the process was completed, or at least complete enough that the two souls would not be able to be separated for several hours, Asgore released Papyrus from his restraints, pulling him close so that he ended up enveloped in Asgore’s powerful arms as they led down. He mumbled something about them getting cleaned up, but Papyrus wasn’t listening. 

His whole body was shaking as he continued to feel Asgore’s intruding thoughts and feelings being shoved into his mind. He curled in on himself, burying his skull into the silky fur of the monster before him to frantically hide the drops of magic running down his face. From the way his body jerked with each sob, it was obvious Asgore knew that he was crying, but was for once merciful and didn’t comment. 

Papyrus forced his damp eyes closed, silently begging sleep to claim him soon.


End file.
